1 


UC-NRLF 


E7S    572 


FRANCISCA  REINA 

AND  OTHER  POEMS:  BY 

AMELIA  WOODWARD  TRUESDELL 


OJ 


•RANCBS  MACCULLOCH 


FRANCISCA  REINA 

AND  OTHER  POEMS:  BY 

AMELIA  WOODWARD  TRUESDELL 


A  CALIFORNIA  PILdttOfACr  TO  YflE  CALIFORNIA  MISSIONS 

"THE  SOUL'S  RUBAIYAT" 

ETC. 


The  losses  which    H^-e   made   us   brothers; 
The  sufferings,  our  own  and  others'. 

The  wrecking  of  a  life's  long  toil. 

Let    us    forget. 

Lest  we  grow  hard  and  unforgiving. 
Lest  we  lose  that  great   joy  of  living  — 

The  might  to  wrest  from  out  the  soil 
The   wealth  that  is  our  rightful  spoil  - 
Let    us    forget. 


SAN  FRANCISCO 
A.  M.  ROBERTSON 

1912 


/•I  war/ 

'•TO  340J8  XHflTSav/ 
JJTfl  -XATH8TJfl 


FRANCISCA  REINA 

AND  OTHER  POEMS:  BY 

AMELIA  WOODWARD  TRUESDELL 


AUTHOR  OF 

"LA  PARRA  GRANDE" 

'A  CALIFORNIA  PILGRIMAGE  TO  THE  CALIFORNIA  MISSIONS' 

"THE  SOUL'S  RUBAIYAT" 

ETC. 


SAN  FRANCISCO 
A.  M.  ROBERTSON 

1912 


COPYRIGHTED,  1911 

BY 
AMELIA  WOODWAKD  TRUESDELL 


\°* 


Printed  by 

Taylor,  Nash  &  Taylor 
San  Francisco 


Note 

Three  of  the  poems  in  this  book  are  re- 
printed from  the  author's  Francisco,  Eeina 
(Boston:  1908);  two  others  have  been 
taken  from  the  author's  A  California  Pil- 
grimage Among  tlie  Old  Missions  (San  Fran- 
cisco: 1884).  Several  of  the  poems  have 
appeared  in  the  daily  newspapers  of  San 
Francisco  and  other  cities,  and  in  the  stu- 
dent publications  of  the  Leland  Stanford 
Jr.  University.  Acknowledgments  are  also 
due  to  the  Overland  Monthly. 


[v] 

Contents 

SONGS  OF  THE  PACIFIC—  Page 

Francisca    Eeina           3 

Franciscans    Thanksgiving 5 

Let   Us   Forget 7 

California's  Hymn 8 

The  California  Eschseholtzia 9 

A  Stanford  Hymn 10 

A  Consecration  for  a  Non-Sectarian  Church          .        .  11 

The  Song  of  the  Colorado  Eiver 12 

The  Spirit  of  the  Desert 14 

La  Casa  Grande 15 

The  Pacific 16 

THE  YUKON'S  SONG  OF  THE  GOLD— 

The  Yukon's  Song  of  the  Gold 21 

THE  MALAMUTE  DOG  OF  ALASKA — 

The  Malamute  Dog  of  Alaska 25 

TUNES  OF  WAR — 

The   Salute   of   the   ' '  Immortalite "     ....  29 

Dewey    in   Waiting 32 

Decoration  Day .        .        .33 

Espana    Dolorosa 34 

' '  Eemembered " 36 

The  Glory  of  " The  White  Man's  Burden"    .        .        .37 

Victoria    Eegina 39 

Labor,   the   Prophet 40 

The  Spirit  to  the  Spoilers 41 

SONGS  BY  THE  WAY — 

The  Procession  of  the  Dumb 45 

At    Pompeii        .        .        . 48 

Sonnet                                                                                     .  49 


[vi] 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY — Continued.  Page 

Palestine              .  • 50 

The  Aspen 51 

God  of  the  Human  Heart 52 

The  Bronze  Buddha 54 

A   Nubian  Lion 55 

Sonnet 57 

The  Song  of  a  Christian  Sojourner  in  America  in  the 

Twentieth  Century 58 

To  "H.    H." 59 

To  a    Friendly    Critic 60 

Heart  of  a  Eose 61 

Sent  With  Eegrets 62 

A  Choice 63 

Grievance ...  64 

"Men  Kiss  and  Eide  Away" 65 

The   Child  in   the   Heart 66 

"Love  May  Not  Sing  Again"     .        .        .        .        .  67 

If  Love  Were  All 68 

Love  Is  Dead 69 

Dead  Love 70 

Truth            71 

Truth 72 

Vita    Brevis 73 

Love's    Divination .        .74 

De  Profundis 75 

The   Gift 77 

Sleep 78 

Peace 79 

Easter 80 

The  Call .        .        .81 

Transition            82 

Stabat    Mater 83 

The   Mater  Pia  85 


[vii] 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY — Continued.  Page 

The  First  Christmas 86 

Love  Is  Saved 87 

Farther    Shores 88 

In    Bondage        .        .        .        .        .  •        •        .89 

The  Waiting  Note 90 

A  Eustic   Bridge 91 

Vespers  92 

L'Envoi 93 

THE  JONGLEUR'S  PRANKS — 

Yankee  Doodle  Up-to-Date 97 

Unc'  Eastus  to  Marse  Dewey 101 

The  Lady  Eeconciled 103 

An  Old  Bachelor 104 

A  Spinster .    105 

My  Soul  and  I          ...  .106 

A  Grizzly   in  the   Zoo 108 

A  Bilious    Day        ......  .109 

Triolet  -   110 

Eondeau •       HI 

Why? .112 

The  Discarded  Lover 113 

The  Mess  Of  It  ....  .114 

Progressive  Love 115 

The  Call  of  Science 116 

Psychology  Five 118 

A  Pre-Adamite  on  Evolution 119 

Concerning  Hoes 123 


Songs  of  the  Pacific 


Francisca  Reina 

A  stricken  queen,  but  still  a  queen  of.  queens, 

She  sat  upon  the  sloping  of  her  hills 

Where  wreck  and  fire  had  danced  the  dance  of  death. 

Her  forehead  bowed  upon  her  knees  she  sat, 
An  instant  stunned  by  her  transcendant  woe. 
The  smoke  still  burnt  her  eyelids,  and  her  throat 
Quivered  with  pungent  acids  of  the  flame. 
The  acrid  vapors  of  the  steaming  muck 
Were  in  her  nostrils,  and  her  slackened  breath 
Was  spent  through  ashes  on  her  bleeding  lips. 

A  while  all  paralyzed,  then  slow  her  head 
Upraised.     Her  eyes  were  dim.      She  saw  through 

mists 

The  vista  of  her  hills  all  gray  and  still. 
When  would  they  laugh  again  ?     Ten  thousand  homes 
Had  burnt  their  hearthstones  into  monuments 
For  her  as  dead.     That  cup  unveiled  she  saw 
Which  fate  has  ready  for  the  desolate, 
The  black  wine  of  despair  each  hour  new  pressed 
From  envy  of  the  nether  gods.     This  cup, 
Scorned  lightly  in  her  pride,  he  thrust  at  her 
With  coward  jeers:    ''Drink,  drink,  thou  boastful 

dame. 

Dost  mock  it  now?    There's  nothing  more  for  thee." 
Once  glance!     The  vision  came!     Her  spirit's  light 
Broke  forth  in  aureole  about  her  head  — 
Glory  immortal  of  a  risen  soul. 
Upright  she  stood.      Hot  cinders  burnt  her  feet  — 


She  knew  it  not.     With  fingers  tense,  the  cup 
She  seized  and,  like  one  born  to  her  own  house, 
That  black  wine  of  despair   she  tossed  aloft 
Upon  the  embers  and  the  blistering  rocks. 

1 '  'Tis  not  for  me,  a  queen,  this  dastard  draught. 
For  lo !     They  come  —  my  children  from  the  sea 
Of  fire  —  each  man  a  king.     Their  garments  smoke. 
Their  brows  deep  seamed,  but  bright  with  hope.  Their 

eyes 

Are  brave,  their  faces  set  to  conquer  death. 
My  sons !    My  sons ! ' '    With  touch  of  its  old  joy 
Her  voice  rang  out  among  the  blackened  tombs. 
* '  Come  near,  ye  bruised  ones.    Unflinching  hearts, 
Together  make  we  sacrificial  vows 
With  orisons  unto  the  rising  sun." 


[5] 
Francisca's  Thanksgiving 

When  the  hordes  of  barbarian  Persians 
Laid  the  beauty  of  Athens  in  waste, 
With  her  sons  came  their  women  and  children 
Making  vows  to  the  gods,  and  in  haste 
Bearing  stones  for  the  walls  and  the  turrets, 
Till  a  city  arose  at  whose  shrine 
The  centuries  kneeled  in  unlading 
Their  argosies'  purple  and  wine. 
Then  ^Eschylus,  reading  his  vision, 
Sang  the  song  of  the  city's  new  morn; 
Myron  felt  for  the  soul  of  the  marble 
Which  in  Phidias  later  was  born. 

By  a  power  more  dread  than  an  army 

Destruction  has  come  to  our  gates, 

And  it  struck  with  a  terror  and  blindness 

Which  tossed  us  like  toys  of  the  Fates. 

But  give  thanks  that  man's  greatest  is  left  us, 

The  strength  and  the  courage  to  do, 

A  purpose  as  grim  as  our  fathers' 

Who  builded  good  cities  and  true. 

Give  thanks  for  the  grain's  golden  harvest, 

Sun-garner  of  wind-rippled  fields ; 

For  the  opened  storehouse  of  the  mountains 

Where  each  year  its  new  treasure  up-yields. 

True  children  of  Argonauts  are  we 
And  our  struggles  to  theirs  are  akin; 
Though  the  trials  be  hosts  like  the  Persians, 
An  Athenian  valor  shall  win. 


Then  Art  shall  arise  from  the  ashes 
An  immortal  unhurt  by  her  scars; 
And  a  voice  shall  be  heard  in  the  ruins 
With  a  song  that  shall  quicken  the  stars. 
As  with  vows,  the  builders  of  Athens 
Made  a  shrine  of  each  wall  they  upraised, 
So  may  we  make  our  city  a  temple 
To  the  God  whom  our  fathers  have  praised. 

Then  spread  we  the  feast  of  Thanksgiving 
With  a  hymn  for  the  days  of  old; 
Cheers  shall  ring  for  the  arduous  Present 
And  the  triumphs  the  Future  shall  hold. 


m 

Let  Us  Forget 

The  horror  which  surpassed  all  telling ; 
The  memories  still  welling,  welling, 

—  Exhaustless  fountain  of  our  pain  — 

Let  us  forget. 

The  nights  that  made  us  gray  ere  mornings, 
The  desolation  of  those  dawnings, 

Whose  like,  no  suns  of  fire-red  stain 
Had  seen  before  nor  may  again, 
Let  us  forget. 

The  losses  which  have  made  us  brothers; 
The  sufferings,  our  own  and  others', 

The  wrecking  of  a  life's  long  toil, 

Let  us  forget. 

Lest  we  grow  hard  and  unforgiving, 
Lest  we  lose  that  great  joy  of  living  — 

The  might  to  wrest  from  out  the  soil 
The  wealth  that  is  our  rightful  spoil  — 
Let  us  forget. 

Lest  we  get  low  and  weary-hearted 
Thinking  of  old  and  new  thus  parted 

—  A  gulf  whose  bridge  is  hope  alone  — 

Let  us  forget. 

Let  us  look  onward  to  the  morrows; 
As  monuments  o'er  buried  sorrows 

Piling  the  best  the  world  has  known 
Of  iron  strength  and  carven  stone, 

Let  us  forget; 
Lord  God!      Help  us  forget. 


[8] 

California's  Hymn 

Before  us  lie  the  seas  which  bring  the  east  unto  the 

west; 
The  oriental  Sphinx  has  bared  the  secrets  of  her 

breast, 

And  calls  on  us  for  answer  to  her  riddles  all  unguessed 
Since  stars  went  rolling  on. 

Half-blinded  with  the  gold  dust  from  our  smitten 

mountain  coves, 
For  years  we  wandered  dreaming  in  our  fig  and 

orange  groves, 
While  the  placers  of  our  wheat  fields  gleamed  with 

golden  treasure-troves 

And  we  went  gaily  on. 

Garden-valleyed  are  our  hillsides — softest  hand  that 
gloves  the  steel  — 

But  the  will  is  rock  beneath  them  for  our  country's 
righteous  weal; 

Our  heritage  of  birthright  we  will  guard  with  death- 
less zeal, 

As  the  peoples  go  marching  on. 

For  our  children's  souls  shall  answer  with  a  spark 

of  holy  fire 

When  smitten  on  the  anvil  of  a  pure  and  bold  desire, 
Till  the  blows  become  the  key-note  of  the  world's 

advancing  choir, 

As  the  future  goes  marching  on. 


[9] 
The  California  Eschscholtzia 

The  orange  hue  of  the  rainbow 

Is  not  so  deep  as  thine; 
More  rich  than  a  golden  goblet 

Influshing  with  sun-lit  wine. 

On  its  calyx  of  pink  thy  corolla 

Catches  sheen  from  the  passing  sun, 

As  if  powder  of  pearls  were  dusted 
And  gleamed  thy  soft  gold  upon. 

Of  a  truth,  the  dainty  fay-maidens 
Must  have  crimped  thine  edge  so  thin 

Alike  to  some  fairy-land  pattern, 
On  thy  stamen  for  golden  pin. 

Deep  down  in  the  cup  of  thy  petals 
One  spot  of  a  purple  stain, 

Where  the  elves  forgot  in  their  revels 
The  last  bright  drop  to  drain. 

As  the  scintillant  dust  of  amber 
In  the  sun  does  thy  pollen  shine ; 

Such  powder  Queen  Mab  might  co/et 
To  burnish  her  locks  divine. 

At  dusk  thou  modestly  closest 
Thy  petals  with  jealous  fold ; 

All  night  thou  cosily  sleepest 
In  a  tent  of  the  cloth  of  gold. 


[10] 
A  Stanford  Hymn* 

Against  the  night,  the  skies  disclose 
Their  beauty  shadow-fraught; 

From  out  the  night,  a  star  arose; 
Through  sorrow,  gleamed  a  thought. 

But  for  the  grief  which  sat  by  death, 
And  dreamed  its  dream  alone, 

Our  Alma  ne'er  had  felt  God's  breath 
Turning  to  life  the  stone, — 

God's  breath  of  love,  to  purpose  warm 

Transmuting  human  loss; 
Kevealing  life's  ideal  form 

To  those  beneath  the  cross. 

0  Stanford,  look  unto  the  height! 

Athene-like,  thy  youth! 
Led  by  thy  star,  seek  thou  thy  might 

In  time's  advancing  truth! 


*Written  for  the  Stanford  Annual,  THE  QUAD,  1904. 


[11] 

A  Consecration  for  a  Non-Sectarian 
Church* 

Before  this  new-made  altar,  Lord, 

Passions  and  cavilings  we  lay, 

All  prejudices  which  would  stay 

Our  spirits  from  a  sweet  accord 

With  love, —  that  love  which  wrought  man's  good, 

Not  in  the  controversial  creeds, 

But  shone,  by  serving  daily  needs, 

Divine  in  human  brotherhood. 

0  sweet  home-love!     This  love  divine, 
Interpreting  with  sorrow's  art, 
How  hast  thou,  on  a  broken  heart, 
Up  reared  the  spirit's  sacred  shrine, 
That  other  souls  may  reach  the  height 
Of  temples  builded  without  hand, 
Wherein  eternal  law  shall  stand, 
And  God  himself  shall  be  the  light. 


*At    the    dedication    of    the    Memorial    Church,     Stanford 
University,    January    25,    1903. 


[12] 

The  Song  of  the  Colorado  River* 

To  my  own  again  in  the  Salton  Sea, 

As  the  Indian  sagas  of  old  have  said, 
When  times  and  a  time  of  my  exile  shall  be, 

I  will  leap  again  from  my  rock-bound  bed. 

For  ages  that  deep  dry  sea  was  mine, 
For  me  she  unbarred  her  ocean  gates; 

And  forever  my  sea  shells  and  corallines  shine 
On  her  brow,  uncrowned  by  the  envious  fates. 

How  that  land  was  fair  when  I  lay  on  her  breast 
With  verbenas  aflame  and  green  with  the  palms; 

Ten  thousand  ages  of  beauty  and  rest 
In  the  glow  of  her  bloom  and  her  passionate  charms. 

But  a  jealous  Titan  earthward  bent, 
And  the  rocks  he  smote  both  far  and  wide; 

I  slipped  from  her  arms  through  the  mountain  rent ; 
Ah,  then  on  her  forehead  the  garlands  died. 

For  aeons  she  lay  with  her  sands  unsought; 

I  was  chafing  and  bound  in  my  narrow  bed: 
But  the  times  and  a  time  their  days  have  wrought, 

And  I  come  again  as  the  sagas  have  said. 


13 


Though  again  I  be  bound  I  will  come  from  afar, 
To  the  sea  and  the  land  of  my  heart's  desire; 

My  gates  of  rock  I  will  thrust  ajar, 

For  the  Indian  sagas  are  written  in  fire. 


*The  Indians  of  the  South  have  a  tradition  that  the 
Colorado  River  first  went  through  the  Indio  basin  to  the 
Gulf,  and  that  the  miles  of  desert  which  now  lie  so  far  below 
the  sea  level  were  lake  and  that  the  whole  country  was  most 
fertile  and  had  a  mild  climate.  They  also  have  a  legend  that 
the  river  will  surely  return  to  its  old  bed  from  which  it  was 
turned  by  a  comparatively  recent  convulsion  of  nature.  When 
the  late  break  in  the  banks  of  the  Colorado  made  the  Salton 
Sea,  there  was  great  rejoicing  among  them,  since,  according 
to  the  legend,  the  return  presaged  great  benefit  to  the  natives. 


[14] 
The  Spirit  of  the  Desert 

An  Indian  rides  across  the  plain; 

And  crushed  beneath  his  pony's  tread 
The  alkali's  white  crystals  shine; 

Bed  wheels  the  sun  high  overhead. 

Stolid  of  face  and  sombre-eyed; 

His  mustang's  bridle  trails  aground; 
The  sullen  lassitude  of  heat, 

Of  smothering  light,  enfolds  them  round. 

Hot  hazes  rise;  in  shimmering  veil, 
The  panting  breath  of  parched  earth, 

Their  silhouette  grows  dim ;  a  speck 
They  fade  into  the  desert-dearth. 


[15] 
La  Casa  Grande 

On  the  Gila's  sun-burnt  plain 
Where  naught  but  the  mesquit  grows, 
And  the  fevered  breath  of  the  sullen  simoon 
From  off  the  desert  blows ; 

Where  the  earth's  dry  lips  are  athirst 
And  the  Gila  monsters  crawl, 
Stands  a  house  of  adobe  alone  and  despoiled 
By  the  years  which  scatter  all. 

The  Indian  as  wrinkled  and  sere 
As  the  leaf  that  rustles  aground, 
Has  no  legend-torch  its  grey  depth  to  light, 
And  echo  can  find  no  sound. 

No  house  of  its  kin  on  the  plain ; 
Life  refuses  its  brotherhood  now; 
Even  Death  has  laid  a  reluctant  hand 
On  La  Casa  Grande 's  brow. 


[16] 
The  Pacific 

The  monarch  of  waters!  the  giant  Pacific! 

How  dwells  he  forever  in  kingly  estate! 
One  mighty  hand  grasping  the  Orient  hoary, 

The  other  wide-spanning  the   Golden   Gate! 
Far  beyond  the  white  cliffs  of  Thor  and  of  Odin 

The  centuries'  snows  are  a  crown  for  his  head; 
Borealis,  his  torch-bearer,  lights  his  state  chambers, 

And   the   icebergs  their   flame-tinted   canopies 
spread. 

To  his  warm  heart  he  presses  his  bride  with  her 

graces, 
Low  responses  she  gives  through  her  forests'  deep 

chimes 

To  his  wooing,  in  softest  tide-cadences  uttered, 
While  their  love-tale  the  minstrel  wind  bears  to  all 

climes. 
High  lifts  she  aloft  the  gigantic  Sequoia, 

To  catch  on  her  brow  the  smile  of  his  face; 
And  the  moons  that  are  whitest  and  the  suns  that  are 

clearest 
For  ages  have  looked  on  their  loving  embrace. 

California,  bride  of  the  princely  Pacific! 

All  proudly  we  gaze  on  the  stores  that  are  thine; 
Not  the  gold  that  was  torn  from  thy  breast  with  thy 

crying, 

Buf  a  greater  boon  ask  from  thy  treasures'  deep 
mine  — 


[17] 


E  'en  a  throb  from  thy  life  when  thy  soul  was  awaking, 
When  the  darkness  was  smitten  ere  dawned  had  the 

day; 
When  the  light  of  the  cross  with  the  sabre's  flash 

mingled, 
And  the  chaos  of  change  in  thy  morn  rolled  away. 


The  Yukon's  Song  of  the  Gold 


[21] 

The  Yukon's  Song  of  the  Gold 

Lo!   We  are  the  waters  that  come  from  afar, 
From  the  heart  of  the  earth  so  young,  so  old, 
Whose  life-blood  flows  from  the  granite  and  spar, — 
The  heart  that  lies  under  the  northern  star; 
And  we  bring  you  the  song  of  the  ancient  gold, 
The  waters'  song  of  the  gold. 

In  the  cavern-retorts  of  the  master-smith  Time, 
It  seethed  in  the  heat  and  crumbled  in  cold; 
When  the  forests  uplifted  their  giant  prime 
And  the  saurians  trailed  through  the  ooze  and  slime, 
He  still  was  annealing  the  molten  gold, 
The  unsunned  and  the  nameless  gold. 

Ere  Thor  was  a  thought  or  Odin  spoke, 
The  gleaming  quartz  into  billows  rolled; 
Then  eternal  silence  in  echoes  awoke, 
When  the  billows  uplifted  to  crags  and  broke 
In  the  terrible  song  of  the  crashing  gold, 
The  song  of  the  grinding  gold. 

We  scraped  it  down  with  the  glaciers'  might 
From  cranny  and  crevice  of  mountain  fold; 
When  the  altar-flame  of  Auroral  light 
To  a  temple  had  turned  the  Arctic  night, 
Then  the  ether  throbbed  with  our  chant  of  the  gold, 
The  psalm  of  our  votive  gold. 

In  the  ice-dark  caves  our  soul  was  stirred 
As  men  called  for  our  help  in  the  canon 's  hold ; 
Deep  under  the  glaciers  our  name  we  heard, 


22] 


In  the  secret  springs  we  leaped  at  the  word; 
We  shouted  and  sung  the  wild  song  of  the  gold, 
The  song  of  our  waiting  gold. 

From  the  benches'  wash  in  the  river-sluice 
A  primitive  man  scooped  the  shining  mould; 
But  our  pebbles  have  taught  you  the  riffles'  use; 
Rejoicing,  we  make  you  a  play-day  truce 
To  hunt  from  your  sluice-box  toys  the  gold, 
Your  trifle  of  captured  gold. 

Our  strength  we  chain  to  their  narrow  bound, 
But  we  scoff  when  you  say  we  are  bought  and  sold; 
With  a  plunge  and  a  flash,  far  below  we  are  found 
In  the  river  our  home;  and  the  hills  resound 
With  our  fetterless  song  while  you  sweep  up  the  gold, 
While  you  gloat  on  the  virgin  gold. 

When  the  pick  on  the  river's  bank  is  still 
And  men  come  not  to  the  snow-lapped  wold, 
Then  our  song  that  was  loosed  at  the  primal  thrill 
Of  chaos  pulsed  with  the  infinite  Will, 
Shall  ring  as  at  first  through  canons  of  gold, 
The  canons  of  unsought  gold. 


The  Malamute  Dog  of  Alaska 


[25] 

The  Malamute  Dog  of  Alaska 

Thou,  ruler  and  slave  of  the  frozen  plain! 
Thou,  Malamute  dog  with  the  voice  of  pain ! 
Is  it  thine  or  a  spirit's,  that  demon  howl, 
That  snap  and  snarl,  and  whimpering  growl 
Which  chills  like  the  curse  of  the  slain? 

Thou  wolf -faced  thing  with  the  jaws  of  steel 
And  the  fangs  that  the  blood-red  lips  reveal; 
With  appealing  eyes  which  seem  to  entreat; 
With  thy  thieving  heart,  and  thy  patient  feet 
For  the  trail  where  the  snows  congeal ! 

Thou  wonder  of  blended  good  and  ill! 
What  gives  to  thy  tones  that  human  thrill? 
For  war  on  the  gods,  condemned  to  thy  form 
Do  vikings  and  dwarfs  in  the  Arctic  storm 
Purgatorial  penance  fulfill? 

Strange  creature!      Thy  cry  on  the  northern  night 
Wails  forth  beneath  the  Auroral  light, 
As  if  earth  heard  again  the  wild  shriek  of  her  woe 
When  Odin's  life-blood  stained  the  halls  of  snow, 
The  snow-halls  on  Valhalla's  height. 


Tunes  of  War 


[29] 

The  Salute  of  the  "  Immortalite  " 

(Manila  Bay,  August  12,  1898.) 

The  coming  dawn  flung  out  her  pennants  grey 
Above  Manila,  where,  like  baffled  tigers  hid, 
Lay  crouched  the  war  ships  of  the  children  of  the  Cid, 
While  Dewey's  fleet  held  Europe's  wolves  at  bay. 

The  morning,  with  her  sudden  orient  hand, 

A  shower  of  sunbursts  cast  where  brooding  seas 

Crooned  softly  to  the  shore. 

The  waiting  land 

Looked  up  in  dread  if  yet  the  breeze 

Were  laden  with  the  war-blasts  roar; 

Looked  toward  our  fleet  of  spars 

With  stripes  of  fire  sun-trimmed  and  burning  stars. 

The  armed  silence  of  our  flag  defiance  hurled, 

Where  from  the  Olympia's  peak  its  bannered  fold, 

Unbound  upon  aerial  waves  of  gold, 

Flung  out  its  daring  message  to  the  world, — 

Our  final  word,  the  lifted  rod  of  power. 

0  Spain !  hast  thou  the  prescience  of  thy  fateful  hour  ? 

These  tides  upbore  the  English  prows  of  steel ; 
Far  off  the  scowling  Kaiser  turned  his  keel; 
Mikado's  sun  flushed  red  before  the  Russian's  frown, 
While  they  whose  sires  had  scoffed  at  Louis'  ancient 

dower 
In  haste  before  the  Czar  bent  down. 


[30] 


Still  hunt  of  kings  upon  Manila's  bay! 

A  muffled  danger  breathed  upon  the  main. 

Ready  to  spring  our  ocean  bloodhounds  lay. 

The  Lion!      Did  he  proclaim  a  strange  or  friendly 

land 

When  toward  Cavite  swept  his  proud  command? 
The  Nations'  sentries  jostled  in  the  strain. 
Aghast  the  Eagle  and  the  Bear  that  day! 

From  out  the  British  prows  in  open  view 
The  Immortalite  came  forth  alone — 
The  Lion's  flag-ship  by  its  legends  known, 
Two  crosses  blazed  upon  a  field  of  blue; 
With  storied  symbol  of  its  power  unfurled, 
Our  ships  it  faced  in  presence  of  a  world. 
0  crucial  hour !     Was  the  Olympia  now  to  meet 
The  standard  of  a  hostile  or  a  friendly  fleet? 

Britannia's  ship  with  signal  flags  bedight, 

Passed  down  our  opened  lines. 

At  full  salute,  she  toward  our  flag-ship  swung 

Before  the  array  of  royal  battle  signs. 

Agape  and  hushed,  the  nations  at  the  sight! 

Then  from  the  English  deck  out-rung 

Our  country's  anthem,  which  the  winds  bore  wide 

To  jealous  kings  across  the  listening  tide. 

Ye  lands,  upon  the  eve  of  battle  stayed, 

Under  all  Europe's  hungry  guns 

It  was  our  own  Star  Spangled  Banner  flung 

A-breeze  by  Briton's  sons, 

Beneath  Saints  George  and  Andrew's  shade: 


31 


Her  child-republic's  place  acknowledged  to  the 

world 
On  this  portentous  day  by  Albion's  flag  unfurled. 

Outbursting  from  those  flag-ships  twain,  a  cry 

Woke  all  the  dreaming  hazes  in  reply. 

With  brow  uncovered  our  Commander  stood 

Beneath  Old  Glory's  loosened  fold, 

Amidst  his  staff  of  loyal  brotherhood. 

Then  from  the  Olympia  burst  that  paean  loved  of  old, 

"God  Save  the  Queen".     No  men  that  bide 

Upon  the  seas  have  ever  poured  a  nation's  pride 

Through  brazen  horns  so  triumph  filled 

As  those  glad  trumpets  which  that  day  out-cast 

A  mother's  hymn  beneath  a  daughter's  mast. 

The  watching  squadrons  with  forebodings  thrilled. 

Across  the  waves  the  stormy  Prussian  frowned; 
Looked  forth  the  crouching  Bear, 
Scowling  at  him  whose  flowery  islands  rise 
Where  Fujiyama's  snows  are  ever  fair. 
And  they  of  France,  in  dumb  surprise 
They  looked  for  him,  the  man  they  found 
When  Dewey's  flag  above  Manila's  gate 
Untangled  yet  another  knot  of  fate. 

0  England!   'tis  for  deeds  like  this,  to  thee 

Our  hearts  are  turned.      Across  the  wrathful  years 

Thy  offered  hand:  the  rancor  and  the  tears 

Forgotten  in  the  blessing  which  shall  be 

When  side  by  side  those  brother  flags  are  furled, 

Till  Anglo-Saxon  peace  shall  lead  the  world. 


[32] 

Dewey  in  Waiting 

(Manila,  May  1  -  August  13,  1898.) 

God  of  our  fathers!  guard  his  ways 
Who  bore  the  strain  through  many  days; 
Who  held  within  a  single  hand 
The  honor  of  his  native  land; 
Whose  ward  ceased  not  with  tropic  light, 
Whose  thoughts  engarrisoned  the  night, 
Whose  vigilance  forestalled  the  dawn 
And  still  patrolled  each  unknown  morn; 
Who  stood  alone  and  unafraid, 
And  the  aggressive  nations  stayed 
With  tact  more  potent  than  the  might 
That  took  an  empire  in  a  night. 
What  but  the  hollow  of  Thy  hand 
O'ershadowed  him  in  that  far  land, 
When  error  meant  a  name  defamed, 
Imperiled  cause,  a  country  shamed? 


[33] 

Decoration  Day 

There  are  graves  on  many  hill-sides, 
White  stones  in  shining  rows, 

Where  half  a  hundred  winters 
Have  spread  their  velvet  snows. 

To  each  the  Springtime  priestess 
Her  Paschal  flowers  will  bear; 

Each  Summer's  offered  incense 
Will  breathe  a  people's  prayer. 

Over  seas  in  tropic  jungles 

Of  Cuba  and  Luzon, 
The   tangled   thickets   cover 

What  mothers  called  their  own. 

But  snows  shall  never  whiten 

The  graves  wide  scattered  there; 

Above  them  alien  blossoms 
Their  censers  swing  in  air. 


[34] 
Espana  Dolorosa 

There  were  tears  in  Andalusia, 

There  was  wailing  in  Castile, 
Leon  was  dark  with  sorrow, 

In  Aragon  the  peal 
Of  dirge  funereal  sounded ; 

For  now  the  flag  of  Spain, 
From  four  hundred  years  of  waving, 

Would  never  rise  again 
Where  the  Pearl  of  the  Antilles 

Makes  the  isle  of  sweet  delights, 
On  the  Carribean  waters 

And  Morro's  battled  heights. 

For  the  Senor  Castellanos 

With  no  sceptre  in  his  hand, 
Gave  the  keys  of  power  ancestral 

To  a  hated  victor  land, 
From  the  Palace  of  Havana, 

Where  crime  had  had  its  sway; 
Where  the  sins  of  generations 

Bow  the  shoulders  of  to-day. 

He  looked  not  back  in  weakness 

With  a  quiver  for  the  past, 
Nor  upward  to  the  turret 

Where  an  alien  flag  was  cast. 
One  cried,  "Espana  viva!" — 

His  heart  shook  with  surprise; 
They  saw  one  sudden  tremor, 

One  unbrushed  tear  drop  rise; 
But  he  trod  the  marble  stairway 


35 


"With  a  martial  step  and  bold, 
Left  the  palace  of  Havana 
With  its  secrets  all  untold. 

Ah,  woe  to  thee,  Granada! 

Thy  sins  are  at  thy  door; 
The  suffering  of  the  ages 

Returns  to  thy  own  shore.' 
Hist!  thy  children's  "Miserere," — 

It  is  history's  fate- wrung  chimes, 
And  the  blood-sweat  of  their  foreheads 

Is  the  dripping  of  thy  crimes. 

Ah,  woe  is  thee,  Alhama! 

The  blood-stain  still  is  there; 
Haste,  haste  to  purge  thy  spirit 

With  penance  and  with  prayer! 

Ai,  Espana!  read  the  writing 
Of  the  hand  upon  the  wall ; 

Ai,  Espana  Dolorosa! 

Beware  lest  worse  befall! 


[36] 
"  Remembered  " 

(Havana,  January  1,  1899.) 

Three  Jackies  went  rowing  far  out  in  the  bay, 
Far  out  in  the  bay  when  the  sun  was  high; 

And  those  laddies  —  they  did  a  deed  that  day 

Which  should  make  them  beloved  forever  and  aye. 

For  they  placed  our  flag  on  the  wave-washed  wreck, 
On  the  wave-washed  wreck  of  the  storied  Maine; 

Those  Jackies,  they  climbed  on  the  rocking  deck 
To  flaunt  that  flag  in  the  face  of  Spain. 

They  swung  it  high  over  davit  and  beams, 

Over  davit  and  beams  for  the  love  of  her  name, 

And  for  love  of  the  lads,  who  from  sleep  and  dreams, 
Went  to  dreamless  sleep  and  unconscious  fame. 

And  it  waved  beneath  the  Morro's  height, 

The  Morro  's  height  in  Havana  bay ; 
Not  a  Spaniard  looked  on  the  daring  sight, 

But  thought  of  another  winter 's  day ; . 

Of  a  salient  day  not  a  year  agone, 
Not  a  year  agone,  but  oh!  for  the  change! 

A  kingdom  lost  and  a  nation  born, 

And  Columbia's  flag  with  an  ocean  range. 

Then  ho !  for  the  lads  who  rowed  out  in  the  bay, 
Rode  out  in  the  bay  with  the  stripes  and  stars; 

Bless  God  for  the  thought  in  their  hearts  that  day, 
The  brave  true  hearts  of  the  jolly  tars. 


[37] 
The  Glory  of  "The  White  Man's  Burden 

(With  acknowledgments  to  Eudyard  Kipling.} 

Aye,  take  "The  White  Man's  Burden," 

And  glory  in  the  place 
Mutations  of  strange  peoples 

Have  thrust  upon  your  race. 
Reck  not  the  price  it  costs  you, 

Though  it  be  the  ''best  ye  breed," 
For  Freedom  is  no  phantasm, 

Nor  Liberty  mere  creed. 

Strong  in  your  might  of  master, 

Strong  in  your  brawn  and  pride, 
Ye  have  the  hand  unflinching 

"In  patience  to  abide." 
Cleave  prison  walls  of  darkness, 

The  former  centuries'  dower; 
Let  in  the  light  of  knowledge, 

Though  blows  seem  cruel  power. 

Despair  not  of  the  burden; 

God's  prophet  felt  the  stress, 
The  murmurs  of  weak  Israel 

Still  in  the  wilderness. 
The  promised  land's  true  blessing 

Those  "fluttered  folk"  shall  know, 
When  they  behold  their  country 

To  nobler  measure  grow. 

Accept  "The  White  Man's  Burden" 

As  duty's  master-stroke; 
The  freeman's  high  ideal 


[38] 


"Your  weariness  shall  cloak." 
And  future  years  shall  show  it 

To  those  who  give  you  jeers, 
There  is  a  verdict  higher 

Than  "The  judgment  of  your  peers. 

Eich  generations  gave  you 

The  brain  to  think  and  plan ; 
Grudge  not  the  aeons'  blessings 

To  this  "child-devil"  man. 
Hold  fast  "The  White  Man's  Burden," 

Though  grudged  the  patriot's  meed; 
For  Freedom  is  no  phantasm, 

Nor  Liberty  mere  creed. 


[39] 
Victoria  Regina 

The  earth  is  full  of  tears.      "The  Queen  is  dead!" 
Ye  men,  with  crepe  upon  your  king's  array, 
Why  make  ye  pageant  over  weary  clay? 

If  ye  have  loved  her,  do  the  things  she  said. 

She  rests  from  strifes  which  broke  her  heart  at  last; 

That  heart — in  love  with  peace — stunned  by  the 
roar 

Which  crashed  upon  the  Imperial  Island's  shore; 
She  sees  God's  purpose  now,  with  view  more  vast. 

Sing  hallelujah !    Let  the  requiems  cease ! 
As  angels  are,  all  young  of  form  and  fair, 
So  she,  to-day;  half  wondering  to  be  where 

War  blazons  not,  and  life  abides  in  peace. 

Tear  off  the  purple  bands!      Cast  them  away! 

Hushed  is  love's  parting  sob — the  years'  refrain. 

She  who  was  widowed,  walks  in  white  again; 
Stain  not  with  grief  your  Lady's  nuptial  day. 

Ye  passing  bells,  a  Jubilate  ring! 

Sound,  bugles,  sound!     Ye  heralds,  cry  the  hour! 

Your  Queen  approaches  now  the  Gracious  Power, 
Received  into  the  Presence  of  The  King. 


[40] 
Labor,  the  Prophet 

I  am  grim  Labor,  I  who  boldly  stand 

And  over  God's  brown  acres  raise  my  hand. 

Tyrants,  ye  heard  the  marching  of  my  feet 

Down  through  all  time  towards  the  oppressor's  seat; 

Ye  tremble  when  before  your  face  I  raise 

My  hands  all  grimy  with  the  forge's  blaze. 

My  heralds  shout  upon  the  hills  afar; 
The  firmament  is  shaken  by  the  star 
Of  despots  hurled  from  heaven  into  the  sea. 
No  longer  shall  the  winds  of  vengeance  be 
Held  back  by  angels  lest  they  hurt  the  earth ; 
The  vials  are  full, —  the  hour  is  come  to  birth. 

Masters,  ye  shudder  at  the  nearing  roar 
Of  angry  waves  that  break  upon  your  shore. 
Each  drop  of  that  tumultuous  sea  is  mine. 
Behold,  that  sea  reflects  the  face  divine! 
The  people  are  the  sea;  athwart  your  path 
They  surge  before  God's  tidal  breath  of  wrath. 

Across  the  raging  of  the  storm  I  hear 
The  angels  of  the  new  life  coming  near; 
Their  trumpets  sound  above  the  tempest's  roar: 
"The  toilers'  bands  are  loosed  f orevermore. " 
And  I,  grim  Labor,  I  shall  wear  the  crown 
Which  kings  and  priests  in  terror  will  cast  down. 


[41] 
The  Spirit  to  the  Spoilers 

Spoilers  of  men,  beware  the  dawning  hour; 

Heed  ye  the  shapes  that  haunt  your  dreams  of  power. 

The  ghosts  of  centuries  of  wrong  arise, 

Their  oriflammes  of  death  before  your  eyes. 

They  point  with  ghastly  fingers  to  your  brows  of 

Cain; 
They  cry,  "Behold  the  earth-encumbering  heaps  of 

slain." 

And  who  are  these?     These  dead  that  gape  unto  the 

skies  ? 
Was  here  a  battle  where  men  stood  with  equal 

chance, — 

Fell  face  to  face,  each  man,  his  effort  like  a  lance 
Full  set  to  do  its  honest  worst  unto  his  foe? 
See  ye  the  helmet  and  the  sword  receive  the  blow, 
When  each  one  strives  alike  to  wreck  or  save  a  life? 
See  ye  the  weapons  of  an  honorable  strife? 

Ye  traffic  princes,  monarchs  of  red  gold, 
Beware  the  fate  of  kings  of  old, 
For  ye  are  one  with  them  in  sceptred  power; 
Forget  not  years  have  brought  the  toilers'  hour. 
The  centuries  accuse  ye.     But  a  new  one  springs 
From  God  with  promise  on  its  wings! 

Go  haste  to  loose  your  brothers'  bands  before 
The  sounds  of  woe  are  heard  within  your  door. 
The  angel  of  a  waiting  vengeance  stands, 
The  golden  censer  in  his  lifted  hands; 


[42] 


It  smokes  with  fire  from  off  the  altar  ta'en 
Where  ye  have  cast  atoning  gems  in  vain. 
Haste,  haste;  he  flings  the  censer  to  the  floor 
Of  earth;  he  swears  your  time  shall  be  no  more. 


Songs  by  the  Way 


[45] 
The  Procession  of  the  Dumb 

In  deep  thought-watches  with  the  Night  a  host 

Passed  by;  a  noiseless  host,  still  souls, 

Each  brow  enbrand  with  pain;  of  thwarted  lives, 

A  dire  processional.      "Father  of  all, 

These  too  are  thine?" 

And  thus  the  prophet  Night: 
"Thou  watcher  by  the  gates  of  the  unknown, 
Dumb  in  the  strife  for  immortality 
Thy  fellows  seek  a  voice  for  their  mute  woe." 
And  these  passed  on  and  on,  the  hapless  ones 
Ill-shaped  from  stress  of  bodies  ill-begot; 
In  thrall  of  deathless  circumstance, —  a  crowd 
To  whom  ideals  are  but  a  dream  of  pain; 
And  with  them  those,  dead-lustred  of  the  eye, 
0  darkest  spirits,  they  who  have  no  dreams. 

Came  tearless  mourners  here,  their  all  in  one 

Too  dainty  bit  of  clay,  or  tiny  hand 

Uptossing  to  their  arms;  supreme  of  woe, 

That  their  wide  eyes  are  dry.      And  I  for  them 

Must  weep  the  speech  of  tears?      Came  lovers  cold, 

Who  shivered  at  love's  limitations  found. 

And  they,  the  worshipful,  who  saw  no  God 

Of  joy  in  their  unanswering  skies. 

0  train 

Most  pitiful,  the  artists  of  unskill! 
The  colorist  to  whom  in  mockery 
Light's  pageantries  appear!      The  sculptor's  touch 
Which  gives  no  marble  breath;  the  artisan 
Whose  fingers  find  no  thought !     The  voiceless  songs ! 


[46] 


Benumbed  of  throat  and  hand,  their  lyres  unstrung, 
The  poet  souls  that  know  not  words'  delight, — 
Ah,  who  shall  tell  the  ecstasy  of  pain 
That  sleeps  at  last,  its  songs  unsung? 

And  lo! 

A  crowd  whose  likeness  men  saw  not  and  lived. 
The  uncrowned  throng  of  the  ambitious,  these, 
Who  ever  for  the  laurel  pluck  the  bay. 
Who,  unanointed  with  the  altar-chrism 
Of  genius,  yet  see  visions  come  and  go. 
One  bound  of  foot  would  walk;  one  drags  a  stone; 
Together  chained,  some  rage  as  galley  slaves; 
The  palsied  limbs  would  keep  apace;  the  hands 
Close  tied  would  hide  a  wound;  a  deathless  worm 
One  slays  in  vain.     And  all  make  shift  to  smile. 
0  flameless  candle  and  the  empty  dish! 

Thus  poverty  and  tasks  unfit  and  bonds 
Unloved !     Fair  tastes  denied,  and  all  the  train 
Of  appetites,  of  passions,  and  disease, 
Had  left  on  every  brow  the  unhealed  brand 
Of  shame  or  multitudinous  sin, —  dread  stamp 
Of  disappointed  lives. 

Again  the  Night: 

' '  Singer  from  hill-top  shrines,  the  mountain  air 
Of  life  bear  in  thy  sweeping  garments  down, 
So  breath  may  be  in  this  dead  place.     Sing  thou 
Of  growth  for  all  the  stultified, —  that  he, 
Vampire  despair,  is  dead.      The  souls  long  blind 


[47] 


That  dwelt  in  error's  darkened  house,  look  forth 

From  opened  windows  to  the  light.     Behold, 

Twin  stars  dispel  low-scudding  clouds !     Now  shrinks 

Dead  fear  and  shrivels  in  the  dawn.     Lo,  truth 

And  knowledge  from  their  star-dust  are  as  suns! 

A  final  state  the  universe  has  not; 

Nor  knows  all  space  the  wrecking  words  'Too  late.' 

"Aye,  shout  aloud  that  these  earth-appetites, 

Of  body  born,  are  not  of  soul.     Yea,  cry 

The  clarion  call  thy  spirit  hears:      'When  these 

Clay  lanterns  of  the  flesh  shall  fall  away, 

Shall  into  pieces  fall,  the  smothered  fire 

In  purer  air  shall  burst  to  brighter  flame 

And  burn  anew  as  lit  from  God's  own  light.'  ' 


[48] 
At  Pompeii 

In  sunless  depths  of  old  Pompeian  halls, 
In  pose  of  life  among  the  pictured  walls 

Were  human  bodies  found,  unchanged  in  mold 
Since  Grace  was  shocked  to  stillness,  meeting  Death. 
A  ray,  a  motion  of  the  new  life's  breath, — 

To  dust  they  fell,  a  heap  of  ashes  cold. 

Within  our  hearts  are  secret  crypts  which  hide 
Grief-forms  unchanged  through  years.      They  still 

abide 
As  things  of  life,  these  hopes  and  dreams  long 

dead. 

If  but  to-day's  sharp  lights  were  bravely  thrown 
Upon  those  figures  time-enshrined  and  lone, 

To  naught  would  fall  the  shapes  of  sainted  dread. 


[49] 
Sonnet 

High  in  a  Roman  tower  where  white  doves  feed, 
An  artist  toils  alone.     The  plastic  clay 
He  molds  with  living  touch  from  day  to  day, 

Till  love's  own  dream  of  love  his  fond  eyes  read. — 

In  work-shops  bare,  the  artisans  with  speed 

Of  cunning  hands  their  life-trained  chisels  ply;  ' 
The  model  fair  before  the  watchful  eye 

They  reproduce  with  earnest,  patient  heed. 

The  Master 's  life !     Ideal  so  fair  and  high 

To  grasp,  we  with  the  Master's  thought  must  vie. 

The  workmen  we  with  rude  or  skillful  hand 

From  out  the  record  marble,  statues  make. 

Alas,  if  idle  blows  that  beauty  break 
Which  for  eternity  and  time  must  stand. 


[50] 

Palestine 

0  Land,  a-stoop  with  penitential  years, 
Thou  tragedy  of  treason  to  thy  God, 
Where  Sons  of  Allah  hold  with  foot  unshod 

The  Altar-place  of  Judah's  fruitless  tears! 

Moriah's  hill!     Blood-sacrifice  of  old 

When  David  slew  on  Oman's  threshing  floor; 

Where  Abram's  knife  was  lifted,  long  before 
The  mornings  flushed  thy  temple's  dome  of  gold. 

Thou  Zion  walls  where  Jacob's  children  pray 

Above  the  vaults  which  hid  a  nation's  shame! 
0  Syrian  sun,  how  canst  thou  bare  thy  flame? 

Weep,  Israel,  weep !     Alas  for  Calvary 's  day ! 

Thou  Nazareth,  we  wonder  at  thy  dower, 

Thou  Olivet  and  Lebanon  afar, 

Meek  Bethlehem  that  stayed  the  wandering  star, 
We're  dumb  before  the  mystery  of  thy  power. 

Gethsemane,  with  olive  twilight  dim, 

We  stand  where  Jesus  held  the  cup  of  woe ; 
We  feel  the  angel  forms  still  come  and  go 

Among  the  changeless  trees  that  sheltered  Him. 

Garden  which  saw  love's  sacrificial  birth 

Where  olives,  bent  with  thrice  a  thousand  years 
Still  droop  above  our  sacrament  of  tears, — 

0  God!  to  kneel  upon  the  self -same  earth! 


[51] 

The  Aspen 

A  Legend  of  Palestine. 

0  Aspen,  why  shiver  thus  in  affright? 

Have  your  leaves  from  eternal  penance  no  rest? 
Did  you  bide  so  long  on  some  eerie  quest 
That  a  terrified,  uninvited  guest 
On  earth  you  seem? 
Does  memory  dream 

Of  the  houris  whose  eyes  were  jewels  of  light? 
Do  you  tremble  in  fear  or  in  hidden  delight? 
0  Aspen,  why  shiver  thus  in  affright? 

0  mortal,  speak  never  lightly  of  me ; 
I  stood  on  Calvary's  hillside  when 
He  was  pierced  in  the  side  by  the  Eoman  men, 
And  the  high  priests  scoffed  beneath.     Since  then 
That  cruel  jeer 
Forever  I  hear; 

Forever  His  crimson  blood  I  see ; 
Forever  no  peace  to  my  heart  can  be ; 
0  brother,  speak  never  lightly  of  me. 


[52] 
God  of  the  Human  Heart* 

' '  God  of  the  Open  Air ! "     God  of  the  Human  Heart ! 
On  heights,  though  Thou  art  there,  of  sorrow  Thou  art 

part. 

God  of  the  forest  arch!     God  of  the  altar-flame! 
Beneath  the  skies  or  groined  roof,  Thou  art  the  same 

Be  it  cathedral  choir  or  swinging  bird 

Thou  hearest  singing  in  Thy  praise, 

They  bring  unto  Thine  ear  the  same  sweet  word 

From  gargoyled  tower  or  copse  of  bending  sprays. 

In  busy  streets  where  we  are  smallest  part 
Of  currents  gushing  from  the  city's  heart, 
In  dens  or  gilded  crypts  of  crime,  some  spark 
Of  light  I  find, —  some  thought,  some  hope,  some 

mark 

Of  thee,  illuminating  with  Thy  sweet  control 
Some  secret  impulse  of  a  sin-stained  soul. 

In  death  throes  of  the  hopes  that  fall 

When  we  to  earth  our  dreams  of  service  fling, 

In  bitterness  of  joys  that  pall, 

In  fruitless  Autumn  from  a  blossoming  Spring, — 

Though  we  be  dumb  with  failures,  Thou  art  there, 

Bringing  life-buoyance  of  the  open  air. 

In  sickness  when  the  pulse  is  low  with  midnight  chill, 
And  death-moths  flutter  round  the  candle's  flare, 


[53 


Thou  walkest  softly  on  the  night,  and  lo!  the  thrill 
Of  life  is  in  the  light  which  follows  where 
Thy  footsteps  make  our  dawn,  "God  of  the  Open 
Air." 


*With   acknowledgments    to    Mr.    Henry   Van   Dyke's   poem, 
"God  of  the  Open  Air." 


[54] 

The  Bronze  Buddha 

On  the  lotus  blossom  the  Buddha  is  sitting, 

With  the  cobra's  hood  on  his  head; 
The  sun  and  the  moon  behind  him  enfigured 

In  a  bronze  of  gold  and  of  red. 
For  the  half  of  a  thousand  years  he  had  sat  there 

When  the  Bethlehem  hymn  was  sung; 
To  Nirvana's  passionless  peace  he  was  passing 

When  the  Christ-Child's  anthem  rung. 

On  his  forehead  the  spot  of  the  chosen  immortal, 

Eevered  as  the  seal  divine; 
Ample-lipped  is  his  mouth,  but  no  human  emotion 

Breaks  the  fullness  of  curving  line. 
And  narrow  his  eyes,  but  life-shot,  and  gazing 

With  a  haunting  calm  to  your  own; 
On  his  lap  the  folded  fingers  are  lying, 

The  labors  of  man  to  them  unknown. 

And  the  nerveless  type  of  a  dream  he  embodies, 

The  inertia  of  unpulsed  soul; 
But  a  mystery  vast  as  the  years  immemorial 

Which  into  the  silence  roll. 
And  illusions  as  subtle  as  orient  attars 

Across  the  lulled  senses  creep, 
Till  my  spirit  is  weighted  with  aeons  and  aeons 

Of  stillness  and  dreamless  sleep. 


[55] 

A  Nubian  Lion 

Monarch,  dethroned,  with  eyes  where  smouldering 

fires 

Seem  ever  bursting  into  memory, 
Whose  brows  are  but  captivity's  despair, 
What  tragedy  of  other  life  has  left 
Such  majesty  upon  thy  wrinkled  front? 

Why  plungest  at  thy  cage?     Dost  see  thy  foes, 
Princes  who  smote  thy  sires  in  Babylon 
Or  in  Persepolis?      Thou  art  avenged; 
Thine  ancestors  have  cast  for  centuries 
Their  moonlight  silhouettes  upon  the  floors 
And  peristyles  of  their  dead  palaces. 

Thou  cryest  from  thy  sleep;  dost  hear  in  dreams 
The  priestess  maidens  singing  by  the  Nile? 
Does  their  low  chant  drive  thy  dumb  being  mad 
With  memory  of  life  in  Philae's  groves? 

Whose  entity  thus  paces  to  and  fro? 

Does  Alexander  pant  for  worlds?     Thy  roar, 

Is  it  some  Caesar's  fury  at  duress? 

In  thy  dun  hide,  does  he  of  Marathon 

Brood  in  thy  sullen  wrath  ?     Thy  whimpering  whine  ? 

Is  Xerxes  weeping  still  for  Salamis? 

Their  peoples  are  as  naught — while  thou?     Thy  race 

Is  yet  the  jungle's  prince;  the  desert's  king. 

But  what  is  heritage  to  thee  in  chains? 
And  what  to  thee  is  aught  save  liberty 


[56] 


And  the  wild  smell  of  hidden  lairs,  where  calls 
Thy  lonely  mate  across  the  Nubian  night? 

Know  this,  thou  prince  of  Pers  or  priest  of  Nile, 
In  bondage  and  revolt  thou'rt  not  alone. 
0  fellow  captive,  rest!     Perhaps  for  us, 
For  thee  and  me,  may  wait  still  other  forms; 
With  kings  we  yet  may  walk  among  the  stars. 


[57] 
Sonnet 

What  owe  I  to  my  sister  of  the  poor? 

Or  to  my  brother  with  blood-dripping  hands? 

To  him  the  golden  largess  of  fair  lands'? 
To  her  the  gauze  and  girdled  gems'  allure? 
Or  shall  I  from  God's  mountain  summits  pure 

Bend  down  with  pity  of  His  love  divine  — 

But  still  as  largess  from  some  far  off  shrine  — 
To  heal  the  bruises  which  to  life  innure? 

Nay,  nay;  a  brotherhood  that  knows  its  own, 

Which  passing,  calls  in  no  uncertain  tone, 

While  it  extends  the  even  hand  of  friend, 

"Hail,  comrade  hail!      We  fare  the  self -same  way; 

Come  let  us  walk  together  for  the  day; 

Together  we  may  find  the  wished-for  end." 


[58] 

The  Song  of  a  Christian  Sojourner 

in  America 
in  the  Twentieth  Century* 

If  Christ  be  God,  I  Him  adore; 
If  Christ  be  man,  I  love  Him  more; 
God-gotten  One  of  heavenly  fame, 
Or  Mary's  son  without  a  name; 
Messiah,  King,  or  Nazarene, 
To  me  the  same  all  titles  mean; 
Still  at  His  feet  my  all  I  lay, 
In  life  or  death,  I'm  His  alway; 
Nor  Sin  nor  Hell  shall  come  between. 


*With  acknowledgments  to  Richard  Watson  Gilder  and  his 
poem,  "The  Song  of  a  Heathen  Sojourner  in  Galilee  A.  D.  32." 


[59] 

To  "H.  H.," 

Helen  Hunt  Jackson,  author  of  Ramona. 

Her  art,  though  beaten  gold  it  lies, 
Her  words  atint  with  nature's  dyes, 
Her  deepest  thought,  the  under  flow 
Of  ocean-silences  below: 
'Twas  not  for  these  we  loved  her  so. 

Not  even  for  the  gentle  grace 

That  followed  her  in  homeward  place 

As  perfume  does  a  swaying  flower; 

Not  for  her  kindness'  gracious  dower; 

Not  for  the  magic  of  her  glance, 

When  beauty 's  glint  made  sudden  trance ; 

Nor  her  quick  ear  for  nature's  cry, 

From  "Hedge-row  things"  to  human  sigh; 

Not  for  her  courage  in  the  face 

Of  Death,  when  with  a  royal  grace, 

As  kings  unto  their  equals  yield 

A  sword  well  worn  on  worthy  field, 

She  gave  her  body  to  the  hand 

Which  holds  the  Maker's  last  command. 

1 '  How  she  loved  us " :  her  voice  we  hear. 
"It  was  for  this  she  was  so  dear" — 
Her  words — a  flower  upon  her  bier. 


[60] 
To  a  Friendly  Critic 

Vision  so  high  that  I  am  dazzled  in  my  sight 
With  searching  for  the  ether's  utmost  star 
That  was  not  meant  to  cast  its  beam  so  far 

As  this  small  earth-bound  range  of  semi-night! 

Half  blind,  rejoicing  in  the  awful  height, 
For  me  no  lesser  sun  can  ever  shine. 
But  oh,  to  reach  that  height  and  make  it  mine! 

O  God !  the  beauty  of  that  far-off  light ! 

The  glimmered  splendor  of  its  slender  ray 
To  twilight  dim  turns  every  nearer  day; 

When  flashes  its  full  glory  on  my  eyes, 

I  faint  upon  the  floor  of  paradise. 
Better  than  love,  better  than  life,  a  friend 
Who  will  not  let  me  choose  ignoble  end. 


[61] 

Heart  of  a  Rose 
Heart  of  a  Man 

A  flurry  of  snow  on  the  heart  of  a  rose ! 

Ah  me !     Who  knows 
The  chill  that  can  strike  to  the  heart  of  a  rose? 

On  the  heart  of  a  man,  a  cruel  tone ! 

Hast  ever  known 
The  thrust  that  can  come  from  a  cruel  tone? 

To  the  heart  of  the  rose  a  sun-ray's  gleam! 

A  smile's  bright  beam 
To  the  heart  of  a  man  is  a  sun-ray's  gleam. 


[62] 
Sent  with  Regrets 

Drink  to  me  with  a  song,  dear  friends, 
When  lips  on  love-notes  dwell, 
And  while  the  wine  with  music  blends 
Till  lovely  bosoms  swell. 

And  when  the  feast  is  at  its  flow 
And  hearts  are  swinging  free, 
Then  drink  with  love-light  all  aglow, 
One  sweet  good  night  to  me. 


[63] 

A  Choice 

An  angel  stooped  down  from  the  hill-side; 

He  was  holding  a  golden  thread 
All  strung  with  the  jewels  of  promise, 

Just  swaying  above  my  head. 

Of  love  there  were  blood  red  rubies, 
And  the  pearls  of  peace  were  there. 

As  I  reached  for  the  gems  in  my  rashness, 
Spake  a  voice,  ''Beware,  beware." 

"But  one  canst  thou  choose,"  said  the  angel, 
Nor  again  shall  I  pass  this  way." 

And  I  clasped  a  single  treasure; 

But  it  burnt  with  a  changeless  ray. 

In  my  hand  I  gathered  this  jewel 
That  blazed  beyond  all  compare; 

And  I  laughed  and  I  wept  as  I  held  it, 
For  the  heart  of  a  friend  lay  there. 


[64] 
Grievance 

One  time  I  grieved ;  I  shivered  as  in  fright 
At  cold  words  spoke  by  love's  usurped  right. 
To  me  all  trembling,  spake  the  faithful  Night: 
"Why  grieve  that  Love  in  ardor  spake  so  stern; 
The  purest  flame  may  in  its  white  heat  burn; 
Not  in  your  wrath,  God's  noblest  blessing  spurn. 


[65] 
"Men  Kiss  and  Ride  Away" 

While  yet  in  maidens '  throats  the  chords  are  swelling, 

Men  ride  away. 
"While  yet  within  their  hearts  the  song  is  welling, 

Men  ride  away. 

From  stirrup-cups  with  hasty  love-foam  rimming, 
From  lips  that  pout  with  kisses  still  a-brimming, 
Men  ride  away. 

With  love-tones  on  the  riders'  lips  still  ringing, 
Their  horses'  hoof -notes  to  the  music  swinging, 
Men  ride  away. 

From  eyes  that  woke  at  love's  too  tender  pleading, 

Men  ride  away. 

From  hearts  where  love  a-faint  lies  dumb   and 
bleeding, 

Men  ride  away. 


[66] 

The  Child  in  the  Heart 

There's  a  child  in  my  heart  that  sings  and  sings, 
"0  life  is  love  and  life  is  fair;" 
When  my  heart  has  peace  and  the  spirit  has  wings, 
Then  I  know  that  the  child  is  singing  there. 

When  the  restless,  midnight  vigils  I  keep, 
And  suffer  for  trifles  which  pass  away, 
I  know  that  the  child  in  my  heart  is  asleep. 
Ah  me!      Will  it  wake  another  day? 

When  I  fret  at  the  burden  of  hourly  strife, 
I  know  that  the  child  from  my  soul  has  fled. 
Woe  is  me  for  the  joy  that  is  lost  to  my  life, 
If  ever  the  child  in  my  heart  be  dead ! 


[67] 

"  Love  May  Not  Sing  Again  " 

Love  may  not  sing  again!     Awake,  awake, 

My  heart,  and  one  more  draught  of  rapture  take ; 

Quaff  deep  while  to  your  lip  the  joy  is  pressed; 
Drink,  drink  before  the  golden  bowl  shall  break. 

It  is  a  god  would  sup  with  you  to-night; 

Lose  not  in  dreams  his  forehead's  visioned  sight. 

Not  vain  upon  your  threshold  poured  his  wine, — 
It  would  to  an  immortal  feast  invite. 

0  Heart  awake!     Too  soon  Love's  song  is  passed; 
Too  soon  his  goblet  to  the  ground  is  cast; 

An  instant  lost,  remains  the  desert  waste, — 
Nor  tears,  nor  blood,  nor  prayers  recall  the  last. 

Awake,  awake!     Love  may  not  sing  again; 
Not  every  day  within  your  spirit's  ken 

You'll  hear  the  wizard  voice  of  Love's  delight: 
0  Soul!     Lift  up  and  cry  "Amen,  Amen." 


[68] 

If  Love  Were  All 

If  love  were  all,  the  way  were  fair. 

Love  reads  its  own  by  surest  signs; 

But  life  slips  in  between  the  lines 
Its  elegies  of  carp  and  care. 

Comes  policy  with  narrowed  eye, 

And  Friendship  masked  in  Duty's  smile; 

Their  sophistries  the  heart  beguile. 
0  Love  be  brave;  the  world  defy! 

O  song  of  love  —  the  sky-lark's  call! 
0  light  that  pales  the  morning  star, 
And  makes  a  heaven  look  dim  and  far! 

0  halcyon  days, —  if  love  were  all. 


[69] 
Love  Is  Dead 

A  form  across  my  threshold  lies; 
The  light  has  fled  from  its  dull  eyes; 
Is  that  what  means  this  pulse  of  pain? 
That  Love,  by  its  own  hand,  lies  slain, — 
The  only  way  Love  ever  dies. 


[70] 

Dead  Love 

Of  all  that 's  cold  in  Arctic  skies, 
Of  all  that's  dead  in  mother-earth, 
There 's  naught  so  cold  as  love  that  dies ; 
Nor  dead  as  love  that  once  had  birth. 


[71] 

Truth 

"What  then  is  truth?"      'Twas  Pilate's  jeer, 
This  greatest  question  of  all  time. 
And  centuries  would  pause  to  hear 
The  answer  to  the  Roman's  sneer, 
This  greatest  question  of  all  time. 


[72] 

Truth 

A  jewel  hidden  in  the  depths, 

A  star  adrift  in  space: 
Then  laugh  the  gods  that  mortal  man 

Should  think  to  know  his  place. 


[73] 

Vita  Brevis 

Unless  as  part  of  some  great  thought, 

Why  struggle  on  ? 

Our  single  roles  are  far  too  short ; 

And  life  is  done, 

Work  just  begun. 


[74] 
Love's  Divination 

For  love  alone  must  conquer  doubt; 

Reason  in  vain  may  flout 

Her  cause,  effect  and  sequence  fine; 

Our  hearts  the  voice  must  hear, 

And  only  love's  own  ear 

Truth's  finest  cadence  may  divine. 


[75] 

De  Profundis 

My  Soul! 

Can  this  as  truth  abide, 

That  in  the  light  which  beamed 

From  riven  tomb  and  manger-altar  side 

I  have  but  dreamed  ? 

Alas! 

Was  there  no  Holy  Child 

In  Bethlehem's  stable  born? 

No  sacrifice  on  Calvary's  dark  hillside, 

Nor  Easter  morn? 

Awake ! 

God  of  our  fathers,  speak; 

Savior  long-promised,  come ! 

Where  shall  we  find  the  truth  our  spirits  seek, 

If  thou  art  dumb? 

Behold! 

Nature  flows  on  apace, 

Unchanged  and  undisturbed; 

Science  reveals  each  year  a  nobler  grace; 

From  Thee,  no  word. 

A-faint! 

We  stagger  towards  the  end; 

A  close-locked  door  we  meet; 

" Father,"  we  call  Thee,  but  we  find  no  friend. 

0  wandering  feet ! 


[76] 


Woe !     Woe ! 

Passed  is  the  faith  of  yore ; 

Our  graves  yawn  very  nigh ; 

And  like  the  millions  who  have  loved  before, 

We  only  die. 


[77] 

The  Gift 

Because  I  cannot  speak  the  word 

The  greatest  human  lips  have  known ; 

Because  my  ear  may  not  have  heard 
The  mightiest  of  God's  thunder-tone; 

Because  I  could  not  probe  the  heart 
To  depths  which  God  alone  should  see, 

I  have  despised  the  humbler  part 
With  which  the  Master  trusted  me. 

0  bastard  gifts  of  unknown  birth! 

O  soul  that  cannot  read  the  skies ! 
Avaunt  thy  offerings,  little  worth! 
Deaf  ears  accursed  and  blinded  eyes! 


[78] 

Sleep 

To  sleep !     To  float  upon  a  dreamless  wave ! 
To  feel  the  wind-swept  senses  softly  close 
Their  portals  from  the  currents  of  the  day ! 
Delicious  languor  of  the  drooping  lids ! 
A  healing  darkness  on  the  aching  eyes, 
When  sounds  become  but  dying  cadences 
Which  murmur  into  wooing  silences; 
The  soft  sweet  wonder  of  forgetfulness 
That  creeps  with  its  narcotic  on  each  nerve: 
Then  slips  the  soul  her  anchor  from  all  thought; 
On  each  receding  tide  of  consciousness, 
She  drifts  away  upon  oblivion's  sea, 
Far  out  to  calm  upon  the  ocean's  night. 


[79] 

Peace 

Peace?     Is  it  the  dull 

Low  ache  that  follows  in  the  lull 

Of  pain?     Is  it  the  sob 

Of  waning  senses  when  the  startled  throb 

Of  passion's  pulse  has  passed?     Is  it  the  glow 

Of  sorrow's  aftermath?     Or  yet  the  slow 

Benumbing  torpor  of  too  satisfied  desire? 

Or  is  it  hearth-stone  vesper  by  the  fire? 

Is  it  the  Autumn  fruitage,  or  the  thrill 
Of  promise  in  the  opening  bud  of  Spring? 
Is  it  the  folded  or  the  spreading  wing? 
Or  is  it  yet  the  pliant  will 
To  suffer  and  be  still? 

Nay,  it  is  none  of  these,  I  know. 

What  is  it  thus  I  seek,  turned  to  and  fro  ? 

It  flees  me  like  the  holy  grail 

That  vanished  over  hill  and  mere  and  vale. 

And  faint  as  hymning  of  the  angel  forms  which  bore 

That  jewel-cup  forever  on  before, 

There  comes  a  voice:     "Let  wandering  cease; 

In  thine  own  place,  thy  soul  shall  find  its  peace. ' ' 


[80] 

Easter 

0  soul,  be  still!     Scourge  not  thyself  with  doubt. 

Tear  not  thy  little  life  about 

With  fever  of  a  baffling  quest 

For  what  the  angels  seek,  thou  temporary  guest. 

Even  as  thou,  the  primal  man  was  dumb 
When  from  dead  husks  he  saw  new  beauty  come, 
And  when  from  nerveless  grubby  things, 
The  while  he  looked,  bright  crumpled  wings 
Burst  forth  in  haste  to  meet  the  sun.     Not  thou 
To-day  hast  more  with  thy  demanding  brow 
Of  this  earth-mystery  of  life  from  death, — 
This  master-question  of  creation's  breath, 
When  out  of  seeming  death  unfold 
New  lives  more  fair  than  were  the  old. 

Go  read  the  life-bloom  scattered  wide 

On  hill  and  field  at  Easter-tide. 

From  death  comes  life,  the  wonder-promise  spread 

For  man  before  he  had  his  stranger-being  read. 

And  when  my  heart  is  with  the  silent  band, 
And  thou  for  mine  shalt  lift  another  hand, 
Thou '11  see  new  roses  from  each  winter  dead 
In  garlands  wreathed  about  some  maiden's  head, 
Their  petals  tinted  from  the  petals  shed. 

Each  Spring-time  answers  to  thy  riddle-making  strife, 
"Recurrent  resurrection  is  eternal  life." 


[81] 
The  Call 

And  God  said  "Come";  and  all 

The  rose  leaves  fell  to  earth, 
And  sorrow's  smothering  pall 

Hushed  every  sound  of  mirth; 

Then  the  stars  went  out  by  night, 
And  the  sun  grew  dim  by  day, 

For  the  souls  that  I  loved,  from  my  sight 
Had  fled  away  and  away. 

In  the  realm  where  I  may  not  follow  — 
Though  I  stand  on  the  border  land  — 

They're  safe  in  the  sacred  hollow 
Of  His  dear  overshadowing  hand. 

But  as  they  passed  on  they  threw  me 
A  smile  so  aglow  with  heaven's  light, 

That  from  my  despair  it  might  woo  me 
And  glorify  all  my  night. 

Though  I  walk  through  strange  dark  places 
While  I  wait  for  the  coming  day, 

I  know  that  their  radiant  faces 
Are  not  so  far  away, 

For  I  feel  the  effulgent  glory 

Of  that  smile  when  I  watch  in  the  night, 
Like  a  benison  pure  and  holy 

Turning  all  my  gloom  to  light. 


[82] 
Transition 

0  lay  again  thy  hand  in  mine, 
The  day  is  done; 

0  say  again  all  joys  divine 

And  earthly  from  my  eyelids  shine. 
The  sands  are  run. 

1  see  the  gleam  of  some  far  land 

Where  bright  ones  dwell; 
Like  presence  of  that  angel-band, 
I  hear  thy  voice  and  feel  thy  hand. 

Dear  heart,  farewell. 

Love  will  not  die  but  grow  more  fair 

When  earth  is  gone,- 
As  I  pass  hence,  I  know  not  where, 
Speak  on  dear  voice  through  ambient  air 
And  be  one  tone  familiar  there. 

Dear  voice,  speak  on. 


[83] 

Stabat  Mater 

0  Thou  Mournful  Mother,  standing  by  the  cross  with 

eyes  uplift 
Where  thy  stricken  Son  was  hanging  when  doubt's 

sword  thine  own  heart  rift ! 

Vain  man's  cry  of  Stabat  Mater,  wailing  down  the 

mournful  years, 
To  rehearse  thy  living  anguish  and  the  meaning  of 

thy  tears; 

If  on  earth  one  knew  thy  woe,  some  mother  like 

thyself  'twould  be, 
Wrung  by  pangs  for  which  'twere  vain  to  seek  words' 

idle  pageantry. 

Such  with  pain  transfixed  stand  as  thou  beside  the 

struggling  clay, 
Dumb  and  lifting  helpless  hands  in  heritage  of 

Eden's  day. 

And  to  these  thou  showest  near  the  might  of  thy 

stupendous  pain  — 
Woe  supremest  save  the  cry  that  rent  the  temple's 

veil  in  twain. 

Such  alone  the  fiery  baptism  which  may  give  thy  grief 

to  know, 
Thou  who  art  the  ideal  Mother  sacred  to  earth's 

holiest  woe. 


84 


Lovely  type  of  purest  sorrow!     Solitude  thy  fitting 

shrine, 
For  the  giddy  world  has  nothing  for  an  anguish  such 

as  thine. 

And  thy  face  with  woe  transfigured  tells  from  altars 

grand  or  rude, 
How  a  mother's  pain  may  be  a  soul's  sublime 

beatitude. 


[85] 

The  Mater  Pia 

Softly  the  fading  moon  dies  in  the  sky; 
Softly  sigh  night  winds  their  sweet  lullaby ; 
Star-eyes  of  angels  are  watching  with  me, — 
Lullaby,  lullaby,  God  is  with  thee. 

0  Babe,  a  tear-drop  in  thy  sleep ! 

0  Israel's  wayward,  lagging  feet! 
Why  linger  thy  Messiah  to  greet? 

Bachel,  do  mothers  always  weep? 

What  mean  this  transport  and  this  pain? 
God  of  my  sires,  across  my  sight 
A  vision  drifts  of  storm  and  light, — 

A  flaming  crown,  a  victim  slain. 

Sleep  on,  sweet  Babe;  awhile  to  me 
Is  given  to  hush  thy  human  cry; 

1  worship  with  the  lullaby, 
And  give  the  reverent  breast  to  thee. 

Softly  the  fading  moon  dies  in  the  sky; 
Softly  sigh  night  winds  their  sweet  lullaby; 
Star-eyes  of  angels  are  watching  with  me, — 
Lullaby,  lullaby,  God  is  with  thee. 


[86] 

The  First  Christmas 

0  Mary,  drooping  by  the  door 
Which  closed  before  thy  weary  feet, 
Fainting  upon  the  court-yard's  crowded  floor, 
We  see  thee  patient,  sweet. 

Patient  and  sweet ;  no  murmur  falls 
From  lips  that  curve  with  coming  pain, 
For  angel  voices  in  the  cattle-stalls 
Thy  flagging  strength  sustain. 

O  wondrous  night!     0  love  divine! 
0  star  that  startled  Eastern  skies ! 
O  glory  of  the  manger-temple's  shrine, 
Earth's  rapture  and  surprise! 

0  Mother,  hailed  the  blessed  maid! 
Did'st  hear  between  thy  smiles  and  tears, 
When  first  within  thine  arms  the  Babe  was  laid, 
The  songs  of  grateful  years? 

We  speak  thy  name  with  loving  praise, 
And  thy  Magnificat  shall  ring 
Till  thee  we  meet,  at  ending  of  the  days, 
Before  thy  Son,  the  King. 


[87] 

Love  Is  Saved 

What  you  most  loved  but  could  not  save 
You  will  not  find  with  watching  by  a  grave, 
For  that  great  love  your  being  craved, 
God  had  already  saved. 


[88] 

Farther  Shores 

Their  ships  sailed  on  —  sailed  on;  was  left 

My  bark  to  struggle  with  the  storm; 
And  of  their  beckoning  smiles  bereft, 

I  sat  till  twilight  wrapped  my  form. 
And  still  I  sail  and  sail  'mid  stress 

Of  seas  and  change  of  day  and  night ; 
Though  tossed  upon  the  waves'  distress, 

Somehow  I  glide  into  the  light. 

I  know  not  how  the  skies  grow  clear, 

Nor  do  I  see  the  guiding  hand, 
As  'midst  the  changing  floods  I  steer, 

My  eyes  upon  a  distant  band 
Of  light  that  shows  a  nearing  shore. 

I  think  it  is  the  gleam  of  day, 
Where  they  await  me  evermore 

Whose  ships  sailed  on  and  far  away. 


[89] 

In  Bondage 

Better  than  I  thou  Lord  dost  know 
The  heart  beneath  this  crust  of  earth, 
The  trammels  of  the  fleshly  birth, 
The  clay  which  crowds  and  binds  us  so. 

This  strong-weak  body  from  my  soul 
Importunate  its  will  demands; 
And  scarce  the  service  of  my  hands 
Can  its  infirmities  control. 

Thou  knowest  all  the  winged  thought 
Which  panting,  bound,  would  fly  to  Thee. 
Accept  the  worship  that  would  be, 
And  which  in  wishing,  still  is  wrought. 


[90] 

The  Waiting  Note* 

In  the  full  celestial  chorus 

Lacks  one  strain  that  waits  for  me, 
Note  of  that  immortal  measure 

From  earth's  death-note  ever  free. 
May  I  with  my  heart's  own  spirit 

Catch  that  harmony  divine; 
Strike  the  chord  with  tone  unerring, 

Knowing  it  as  only  mine. 

Mine  with  not  a  broken  cadence; 

Mine  for  God's  eternal  chime, 
Keyed  to  heavenly  diapason 

When  the  worlds  He  swung  in  time; 
In  majestic  majors  swelling, 

Mine  where  men  and  angels  meet, 
And  the  spheres  in  grand  crescendo 

Lay  their  worship  at  His  feet. 


*Dedicated  to  President  Susan  L.  Mills  of  Mills  College 
and  sung-  by  the  surpliced  choir  of  young  lady  students  at 
the  celebration  of  her  eighty-fifth  birthday. 


[91] 

A  Rustic  Bridge 

A  rustic  bridge;  the  copse  at  dawn 
Adrip  with  sweetness  of  the  night; 
From  out  the  reaches  of  the  lawn, 
A  lark  rose  up  beyond  my  sight. 
The  air  was  quivering  with  his  song's  wild  lay 
That  shook  and  sparkled  in  the  sunbeam's  ray. 


I  hear  across  the  chasmed  years 
The  buoyance  of  that  song  to-day; 
Hast  thou  the  note  dispelling  tears, 
To  leave  when  thou  art  far  away? 

Yea  soul,  love's  word  can  thrill  from  planets  far; 

God's  love  can  ring  from  star  to  utmost  star. 


[92] 

Vespers 

Though  I  be  old,  alone  and  dying  fast, 
Weary  of  limb,  infirm  of  step  and  slow, 
Before  my  darkened  eyes  fair  visions  go : 

Just  now  I  heard  the  angels  as  they  passed. 

Thou  eager  Soul,  canst  bear  with  lagging  Death 
For  yet  awhile,  as  Day  endures  the  Night? 
Keep  clear  thy  vision  for  the  inner  sight, 

And  our  new  form  shall  have  immortal  breath. 

I  feel  thee  flutter  with  the  life  to  be, 

0  Soul,  as  thou  would 'st  try  thy  fledging  wings. 

Be  still !     Hush  thou  thine  ear  for  farther  things ! 
Not  long  this  fading  form  will  hinder  thee. 


[93] 
L'  Envoi 

Deep  heart  of  love  where  never  sound  is  heard^ 
Beneath  the  wash  and  wave  of  any  word, 
From  out  our  vision  shut  the  earthly  day 
And  we  shall  see  God's  ocean  gardens  sway, — 

Fair  lives  cut  off  in  promise  of  their  flower; 

Beauty  in  bud;  manhood  despoiled  of  power; 
And  there,  into  immortal  beauty  grown, 
Loves  which  on  earth  were  but  in  shadow  thrown. 


The  Jongleur's  Pranks 


[97] 

Yankee  Doodle  Up-to-Date* 

I. 

Old  Spain  took  Cuba  by  the  hair 
And  fearfully  abused  her; 
Said  Uncle  Sam,  "Hold  on,  my  Dons, 
Too  long  you  have  mis-used  her." 

Yankee  Doodle  help  her  out, 

Yankee  Doodle  Dandy, 
"As  friendly  neighbors  don't  you  think 
Free  Cubans  would  be  handy?" 

When  Dons  blew  up  the  Yankee  Maine, 
Said  Uncle  Sam,  "I  swear  it, 
My  boys  shall  clear  that  Spanish  main; 
Let  him  object  who  dare  it." 

Yankee  Doodle,  seize  their  ships, 

Yankee  Doodle  Dandy, 
"Before  our  reckoning's  done  they'll  find 
It  is  no  school-boy  pandy." 

II. 

Then  arm  in  arm,  our  Uncle  sailed 
With  Dewey  round  Manila, 
Said  he,  "Now,  Dewey,  tell  me  where 
Is  Spain's  renowned  flotilla?" 

Yankee  Doodle  shell'em  out, 

Yankee  Doodle  Dandy, 

"You  sunk  'em?  sho!  you  must  have  found 
That  harbor  bottom  handy." 


*Written  to  be  sung-  at  entertainments  given  in  the  camps 
of  volunteers  around  San  Francisco.  The  boys  in  blue  joined 
in  the  chorus,  which  accounts  for  the  frequent  refrain.  Writ- 
ten piecemeal  as  the  war  progressed. 


[98] 


Said  he,  "Now,  Dewey,  keep  your  hold 
While  I  run  home  a  minute, 
I'll  send  you  loads  of  soldier  boys, 
They're  dyin'  to  be  in  it." 

Yankee  Doodle  hurry  up, 

Yankee  Doodle  Dandy, 
"For  Dons  and  Aguinaldo's  tribes 
My  blue  coats  will  come  handy." 

III. 

Then  Schley  went  hunting  Spanish  ships 
Around  that  ocean-lodgin ' ; 
Said  Uncle  then,  "I  think  you'll  find 
Them  occupied  in  dodgin ' ! " 

Yankee  Doodle  hunt  them  out, 

Yankee  Doodle  Dandy; 
' '  They  '11  bob  up  here  and  bob  up  there, 
At  bobbin'  they  are  handy." 

"We  bottled  up  Cervera's  fleet," 
Said  Uncle  Sam  to  Hobson, 
"We'll  find  a  higher  place  for  you 
You've  done  a  clever  job,  Son." 

Yankee  Doodle  sink  the  ship, 

Yankee  Doodle  Dandy, 
"For  shutting  up  the  harbor  mouth 
The  Merrimac  proved  handy." 

Said  Sampson  to  the  Spanish  Don, 
"Why  don't  you  come  and  fight,  Sir?" 


[99 


"Caramba,"  said  that  high  Seilor, 
"You've  shut  me  up  too  tight,  Sir." 

Yankee  Doodle  fire  away, 

Yankee  Doodle  Dandy, 
' '  We  '11  stop  the  guns  and  hold  the  fort, 
No  more  brave  words  we  '11  bandy. ' ' 

When  shot  were  the  Virginius'  men, 
'Twas  Santiago  did  it; 
Our  boys  have  settled  that  old  score 
Just  with  the  town  that  bid  it. 

Yankee  Doodle  pay  your  debts, 

Yankee  Doodle  Dandy, 
At  Caney  and  at  San  Juan  ridge, 
Eough  Rider  lads  were  handy. 

IV. 

When  Miles  to  Porto  Eico  went, 
He  climbed  right  up  and  took  it ; 
The  natives  cried  "Dear  Uncle  Sam, 
We're  good  though  we  don't  look  it." 

Yankee  Doodle — what  a  brood ! 

Yankee  Doodle  Dandy, 
Said  Uncle  Sam,  "These  new  possess 
Look  just  like  'lasses  candy." 

Then  he  from  Porto  Rican  hills 
Reviewed  the  situation; 
He  frowned  and  puzzled  on  the  job 
Of  foreign  occupation. 


100 


Yankee  Doodle  thought  a  while, 

Yankee  Doodle  Dandy. 
Said  he,  all  pensive-like  and  bland, 
And  stroked  his  chin  so  handy, 

"I  hear  that  sweets  are  not  held  good 
For  Uncle  Sam's  digestion ; 
You're  wrong,  my  boys,  you'll  see  me  thrive 
On  that  Hawaiian  question." 

Yankee  Doodle  hoist  the  flag, 

Yankee  Doodle  Dandy, 
"Now  don't  forget,  your  Uncle  Sam 
Is  fond  of  sugar  candy." 

"Now  Dewey's  finished  up  the  job, 
Just  what  he  undertook  to; 
I  think  I'll  put  him  at  the  head, 
He's  pretty  safe  to  hook  to." 

Yankee  Doodle  keep  your  grip, 

Yankee  Doodle  Dandy, 
' '  We  won 't  go  back  on  Dewey  's  prize ; 
My  Dewey  is  a  dandy. ' ' 

' '  Now  Miles, ' '  said  he,  ' '  Let 's  count  'em  up ; 
Here's  Cuba'n  Porto  Rico; 
Hawaii  in  the  other  pond, 
Ladrones  and  Philippine." 

Yankee  Doodle  keep  your  head, 

Yankee  Doodle  Dandy, 
"For  stepping  stones  around  the  world, 
Those  islands  will  come  handy." 


Unc'  Rastus  to  Marse  Dewey 

My  Dear  Mars  Dewey:     We  sutney  is  please 

Ter  heah  yo's  a-ridin'  de  hom'ard  seas, 

But  I  laid  off  ter  give  yo'  a  wud  in  yer  year, 

Fer  I's  feared  yo's  gwine  ter  hev  trouble  right  here. 

'Twus  jes'  ter  say  dis  —  when  yo'  comes  f ' m  de  Souf, 

Wharev'r  yo'  goes,  don't  open  yer  mouf, 

Fer  talkin'  too  much's  ben  de  cuss  an'  de  bane 

0'  de  heroes  what  comes  f'm  de  conq'rin'  o'  Spain. 

Dey  tole  secret  t'ings  Marse  Kaiser  denied, 
With  strong  sinervations  dat  somebody  lied; 
Dey  writ  de  long  letters  chuck  full  o'  advice, 
'Bout  pussons  in  hammocks  what  et  up  de  ice ; 
'Bout  de  quarters  an'  rations  —  dat  " roun '-robin " 
game. 

Den  de  dinners!      0  Lord!  de  battles  o'  Spain 
Wan't  a  circumstance  't  all  when't  come  ter 

champagne ; 

De  fumes  was  wus  dan  de  smell  o'  de  powder, 
An'  dat  big    twel'-inch,  he  don'  talk  no  louder; 
Dar's  all  kin'  o'  enemies  hid  in  dat  wine, 
Dey's  thicker  dan  guns  in  de  firm'  line. 
So  twar  quoilin'  an'  fussin'  in  'spisable  ways, 
All  aimin'  ter  git  de  bulk  o'  de  praise 
Away  f'm  de  turr,  like  dey's  chickens  dat  foun' 
Dar  wou'n't  be  wurrum  ernuff  ter  go  roun'. 
But  spite  o'  it  all  we  hed  a  gre't  fight, 
Dis  country,  she's  leadin'  ter  lef  an'  ter  right; 
Hit  don't  mek  no  diffence  on'  Ian'  er  on  sea, 


102  ] 


Dat's  a  sho'  'nuff  fac'  when  yo'  b 'longs  ter  de  free; 
De  blue  er  de  grey,  de  black  er  de  white, 
Dey's  all  kin-folks  when  Ole  Glory's  in  sight. 

If  I's  brash  in  persumin'  ter  speak  out  so  bole, 
It's  'case  I's  preacher  an'  toler'ble  ole, 
But  we  sees  right  smart'  hin'  de  gent 'men's  chairs, 
An'  I  jes  'lowed  ter  give  yo'  a  hint  ter  bewares. 

Dey'll  mek  percessions  ter  tote  yo'  roun' 

Wid  jubilee  fixin's  in  ebery  town, 

Twel  de  row's  es  loud  es  a  big  camp  meetin', 

An'  yo's  natchelly   'bleeged  ter  git  shet  o'  dat 

treatin '. 

I  tek  noticement  how  yo's  refused  so  far, 
But  sometime  de  home-comin's  de  tug-o '-de-war. 

So  don't  tek  no  'fense  at  de  'marks  o'  a  friend 

Wot's  bragged  on  yer  doins  f'm  b'ginnin'  ter  end; 

Yo's  leadin'  de  row,  yo's  top  o'  de  pot, 

Yo's  de  onliest  Admur'l  we  all's  got, 

An'  we  wants  yo'  ter  stay  at  de  head  o'  de  winners. 

Dat 's  huccome  we  say :    ' l  Fight  shy  o '  dem  dinners. ' ' 

So  dear  Marse  George,  when  yo  comes  f'm  de  Souf, 

Wharev'r  yo'  goes,  don't  open  yer  mouf, 

Fer  talkin'  too  much's  ben  de  cuss  an'  de  bane 

O'  de  heroes  what  comes  f'm  de  conq'rin'  o'  Spain. 


[103] 

The  Lady  Reconciled 

A  lady  and  a  tiger  held 

The  birthright  of  an  ancient  feud ; 
Said  he,  ' '  Pray  let  our  wrath  be  quelled ; 

Fair  dame,  I  fear  I've  been  too  rude. 

1  'In  future  peace  let  us  abide; 

In  pledge,  let's  forth  our  friends  to  greet; 
Behold  my  shining,  fulvous  hide; 

You'll  find  my  back  a  pleasant  seat." 

When  they  came  back  from  that  rash  ride, 
The  tiger  wore  his  blandest  smile. 

Quoth  he,  "The  lady  rides  inside; 
'Tis  thus  our  foes  we  reconcile." 

If  Science  offer  subtle  schemes, 

My  faith,  be  not  too  soon  beguiled ; 

Strange  friendships  may  be  tempting  dreams; 
Beware  the  lady  reconciled. 


[104] 

An  Old  Bachelor 

0  love  is  a  jade  of  a  wayward  life ; 

Sometimes  she  is  gone  at  the  whiff  of  a  breath; 
Again  she  survives  the  most  savage  strife; 

Then  often  she  scoffs  in  the  face  of  death. 

Sometimes  she  will  fight  at  the  drop  of  the  hat; 

And  then  she  will  take  your  cuffs  and  blows 
As  tame  as  a  household  tabby-cat, 

And  likes  to  be  led  by  a  string  in  her  nose. 

Sometimes  at  the  turn  of  hand,  she  is  dead; 

Again  at  your  tears  she  will  laughingly  flout. 
She's  enough  to  drive  a  man  out  of  his  head; 

As  for  me,  I  will  not  have  the  creature  about. 


[105] 

A  Spinster 

Why  have  you  come,  0  love,  so  near, 

Come  but  to  pass  me  by? 
I  sought  you  not  but  found  you  here; 

Turn  hence  your  trifling  eye. 

And  in  your  vagrant  wandering, 
Pray  take  some  other  path; 

Your  talk  —  it  is  but  maundering 
To  rouse  contempt  and  wrath. 

Forever  on  some  changing  quest, 
With  manners  quite  too  gay, 

You  are  a  fickle-minded  guest. 

What's  that?     You've  come  to  stay? 

I  don't  believe  a  word  you  say; 

You  said  the  same  another  day; 
I  know  your  tricks :  go  way ;  go  way ; 

Whenever  did  you  come  to  stay? 


[106] 

My  Soul  and  I 

"Why  don't  I  die  and  set  you  free?" 
You  saucy  Soul,  don't  talk  to  me; 
I  am  not  half  so  old  as  you 
Who  saw  the  Pharaoh  beat  the  Jew. 

You  helped  to  build  a  pyramid; 
Once  in  a  Brahmin  you  were  hid; 
I  know  because  you  whispered  me 
How  sweet  the  Hindoo  maids  could  be. 

For  Babylon  you  sometimes  weep 
When  I  am  tossing  in  my  sleep ; 
If  of  Iran  I  make  a  verse, 
You  Zoroaster's  lines  rehearse. 

Please  don't  forget  that  Chinese  queue, 
Though  worn  upon  a  throne  'tis  true; 
And  next,  as  one  of  Canton's  girls, 
You  made  the  tea  for  sampan  churls. 

You  were  a  Turkish  red-fez  man, 
You  babble  still  of  Hafed's  khan; 
I  stood  within  blind  Nydia's  door; 
Quoth  you,  "I've  seen  this  house  before." 

When  the  old  Britons  placed  the  rood, 
You  with  the  ensigned  Eomans  stood; 
Though  you  became  her  queen  by  right, 
I  found  you  worn  and  weary  quite. 


[107 


YouVe  been  worse  off;  more  civil  speak, 
Since  you  are  such  a  varied  freak. 
I  have  not  kept  you  near  so  long 
As  that  black  slave  of  Intermong. 

YouVe  tried  the  old  world's  worst  and  best, 
And  thought  it  better  to  come  west: 
Then  you  were  very  glad  to  find 
My  infant  form  just  to  your  mind. 

The  west  has  set  the  whole  world-pace; 
You're  still  in  time  to  join  the  race: 
A  new  sensation  you  will  note, 
You  soon  will  cast  a  woman's  vote. 


[108] 

A  Grizzly  in  the  Zoo 

A  shame  to  your  kin,  you  good-natured  bear, 
You  show  no  regrets  for  your  lost  mountain  lair. 
At  play  in  the  cage  of  your  traveling  zoo 
With  the  child  who  throws  peanuts  and  apples  at  you ! 

The  lion  is  wroth  and  the  tiger  is  sly, 
But  you  eat,  and  twinkle  your  small  black  eye ; 
From  the  top  of  your  pole  you  look  down  as  if  man 
Were  a  brother  who  does  wh'at  a  brother  can. 

Do  you  never  dream  of  Sierra's  height 
Where  your  comrades  hunt  on  the  trail  all  night? 
Do  you  think  such  hide  and  muscles  were  meant 
To  accept  a  pampered  and  slavish  content? 

Resistance  that  fails  is  better  by  far 
Than  submission  that  fondles  its  cage  and  its  bar. 
Break  some  fetter  that  binds;  go  tear  up  the  earth, 
And  show  yourself  worthy  your  savage  birth. 

The  tiger's  snarl  and  the  lion's  roar, 
That  pierce  unavailing  their  iron  door, 
Less  ignoble  seem  than  the  pitiful  play 
Of  the  mighty  paw  that  was  meant  to  slay. 


[109] 

A  Bilious  Day 

One  day  I  stalked,  when  Fate  had  balked 

And  things  were  in  a  fix, 
With  brows  of  gloom  and  thoughts  of  the  tomb, 

On  the  shores  of  the  river  Styx. 

"I'm  dead,"  said  I;  "No  more  I'll  try 

This  hateful  race  to  win; 
So  Charon,  dear,  your  boat  bring  here 

And  kindly  take  me  in." 

Contemptuously  he  said  to  me, 

With  eyes  askance  the  while, 
"A  healthy  ghost!     Back  to  your  post, 

A  potion  take  for  bile." 

The  advice  was  good  and  it  has  stood 

The  test  of  many  a  friend ; 
And  so  for  you  when  you  are  blue, 

The  same  I'll  recommend. 


[110] 

Triolet 

How  dared  he  do  it, 
To  kiss  those  girls ! 
But  he  will  rue  it; 
How  dared  he  do  it ! 
Fate  led  him  to  it 
With  smiles  and  curls ; 
How  dared  he  do  it, 
To  kiss  those  girls! 


[Ill] 

Rondeau 

0  Jack,  don't  tease  me  every  day, 
Go  talk  to  Grace  or  Nell  or  May; 
Why,  every  time  I  tell  you  nay, 
It  only  makes  you  still  more  bold 
As  if  you  never  had  been  told. 

Dear  heart!      That  little  word  I  pray, — 
The  word  which  never  can  grow  old, 
Makes  darkness  bright  and  sorrow  gay, 
For  which  a  world  is  gladly  sold, 

That  little  word,  "I  love". 

That  word  is  but  an  idle  play, 

Or  else  another  name  for  gold. 

The  changes  on  that  word  you've  rolled 

Till  tired  of  being  so  cajoled; 

I've  only  one  thing  left  to  say, — 

That  little  word,  "I  love". 


[112] 

Why? 

What  makes  you  ask  Don  Cupid  "Why? 
And  what  did  you  get  for  a  saucy  reply 
But  another  arrow  straight  in  the  eye? 
So  never  ask  the  little  god  "Why?" 
For  Love  never  knows  the  reason  why. 


[113] 

The  Discarded  Lover 

0  love  is  illusion  and  passion  a  snare; 

Of  the  promise  they  make  you,  beware,  beware; 
They'll  put  up  a  job  to  break  your  heart; 
If  you  would  have  peace,  with  them  you  must  part. 


[114] 

The  Mess  of  It 

The  gods  made  a  sorry  old  mess  of  it  — 

The  results  we  can't  even  guess  of  it  — 

When  the  caldron  they  mixed  for  the  young  world's 

youth ; 

The  joy  and  the  sorrow  they  cast  indiscriminate, 
The  false  from  the  true  they  did  not  eliminate, 
But  left  man  to  add  love  as  the  test  of  the  truth. 


[115] 

Progressive  Love 

Who  says  that  a  second  is  not  as  good? 

That  a  third  should  never  be  had? 
Let  him  try  a  fourth  in  an  Alpine  hood; 

And  a  fifth  is  not  half  bad. 

Then  here's  to  the  latest;  there'll  be  no  last, 
Till  Death  cries  "Ho,  you're  mine;" 

Love's  eternal  youth  has  no  future  or  past, 
And  its  present  is  fire  divine. 


[116] 

The  Call  of  Science 

He  Speaks: 

"My  girl/'  quoth  he,  "I  feel  each  cell 
Of  all  my  being  towards  you  swell ; 
These  cells,  you  know,  make  up  the  tissue 
That  vibrates  with  each  latest  issue. 

"That  vital  energy  which  fills 

These  cells,  gives  strange  and  wondrous  thrills ; 

This  energy  is  said  to  be 

The  substance  of  the  graces  three. 

' '  This  energy  —  life  universal 
Condensed  from  nothing  —  has  rehearsal 
In  concrete  lives,  by  heat  electric, 
In  waves  invisible  but  hectic. 

"That  your  vibrations  harmonize 
With  mine,  I  read  in  violet  eyes ; 
Color  and  light  are  nature's  rhythm; 
Sphere-music  old  is  scarcely  with  'em. 

"To  think,  your  atoms  charged  have  whirled 
Through  space  until  the  insensate  world, 
Condensed,  such  treasure  could  receive! 
0  Aeons  lost  we  can't  retrieve! 

' '  And  only  now  I  find  you  here ; 
So  young,  so  old,  so  ever  dear; 
But  still  I  always  felt  you  coming, 
Through  galaxies  of  stars  a-humming." 


[117 


She  Speaks: 

"Yes,  dear,  I've  had  my  share  of  trouble, 
Working  through  world-dust  full  of  rubble; 
'Gainst  Mars  and  many  moons  a-bumping ; 
At  last  upon  this  globe  down-plumping. 

"Through  all  I  felt  your  vital  force 
That  drew  me  to  its  nearing  source ; 
I  knew  this  involuting  notion, 
Condensed  by  vibratory  motion, 

"Concentrates  in  the  heart's  fine  cells 
Till  they  become  emotion's  wells. 
Then  evolution's  working  power 
Develops  lives  of  perfect  flower. 

"Our  lives  concentric  thus  shall  fill 
Thought-pulses  of  the  rhythmic  will." 
He  caught  her  in  his  arms '  vibrations, 
All  wrapped  in  tangled  concentrations, 

Like  wires  in  spiral  circles  bound; 
Then,  lines  of  least  resistance  found, 
In  scarlet  lips  evolved  the  blisses 
Of  true  magno-electric  kisses. 

Rejoice,  Dan  Cupid!  you're  not  in  it, 
For  science  changes  every  minute; 
Nature  unwound  her  spiral  force; 
Currents  reversed  for  their  divorce. 


[118] 

Psychology  Five 

Adapted  from  the  French  of  Baunis 

'Tears,  idle  tears,  I  know  not  what  they  mean, 
Tears  from  the  depths  of  some  divine  despair." 

Alfred  Tennyson. 

No  more  of  despair  you  poets; 

We  are  farther  than  that  to-day. 
Your  tears  do  but  flush  the  nerve-centers 

And  wash  the  debris  away. 

When  you're  hurt  in  the  heart  as  you  call  it, 

The  vessels  engorge  with  blood, 
And  the  nerves  make  a  poison  deposit 

Which  is  carried  away  by  the  flood 

Of  tears,  which  lovers  and  poets 
Have  wrought  into  idyls  of  song; 

But  these  tears  as  peripheral  action 
To  Psychology  Five  belong. 

And  your  tears  no  longer  are  ''idle" ; 

They  're  a  part  of  economy 's  wealth ; 
"This  stock-theme  of  lyrics,"  says  science, 

"Only  means  sanitation  and  health." 


[119] 
A  Pre-Adamite  on  Evolution 

An  aged  king  of  gorillas  sat 

By  the  side  of  his  wrinkled  spouse ; 
Beneath  a  drooping  banana  tree 

They  renewed  his  birth-day  vows. 

Quoth  he,  while  a  bunch  of  the  fruit  he  plucked 

To  lay  at  her  royal  feet; 
' '  To  burden  this  day  with  forebodings  of  state, 

I  know  that  it  is  not  meet; 

"But  my  heart  is  sore  for  the  future  youth, 

For  our  tribe  and  the  very  race. 
A  nation's  weakness  approaches  fast 

In  the  changes  of  form  and  face. 

"Of  seven  full  generations  now 

Patriarchal  chief  am  I. 
Not  a  son  has  the  strength  his  father  had ; 

They  carry  their  heads  too  high. 

"There  goes  our  cousin  Chimpanzee,  the  knave; 

Ignominious  shelter  he  makes, 
To  hide  himself  from  the  foe  and  the  storm, 

With  a  shelter  of  brushes  and  brakes. 

"0  degenerate  sons  of  the  future  gorilla, 
Can  you  hurl  great  rocks  at  the  foe ; 

Can  you  lash  them  with  trees  ?     Can  you  frighten  the 

beasts 
With  a  voice  they  have  learned  to  know?" 


[120 


And  he  beat  his  great  breast  with  concussion 

profound, 

At  his  people's  evolving  disgrace; 
But  his  queen  held  her  peace  till  his  wrath  should 

abate ; 
This  dame  knew  her  proper  place. 

"Does  my  lord  forget,"  she  ventured  at  last, 

"When  he  came  a-courting  of  me, 
That  I  was  more  fair  than  my  mother  had  been, — 

He  deemed  it  most  good  to  see? 

"And  the  fathers  find  nothing  more  worthy  to-day 

In  the  stories  of  ancient  wives, 
Than  the  deed  of  a  modern  gorilla  maid 

Whose  tact  saved  a  hundred  lives. 

"Has  your  highness  a  stride  less  majestic  and  firm 
Than  his  sires  who  went  on  all  four? 

And  we  lack  not  the  berries  and  betel  nuts 
Though  we  swing  in  the  tree  tops  no  more. 

"And  recall  how  our  foes  have  been  vanquished 
By  the  traps  our  children  designed; 

Perhaps  Nature  may  reach  compensation  at  last 
In  a  race  of  a  subtler  mind." 

But  he  shook  his  grey  head  in  a  muttering  storm: 

"Such  degeneration  will  bring 
The  noble  race  of  Gorillas  ere  long 

To  a  pale-faced  naked  thing. 


[121 


"A  creature  so  weak  and  enfeebled  he'll  be 

That  in  two  generations  he's  old; 
His  short  arms  may  drop  off  altogether,  I  fear, 

Like  the  tails  of  which  we  are  told. 

"A  weakling,  short-armed  and  bald-headed  forsooth! 

Afraid  of  the  cold  and  the  heat ! 
When  the  mermaids  at  twilight  are  singing  their 
psalms, 

He'll  do  for  the  shore's  front  seat. 

"Ha!    The  females  of  that  generation!"   He  roared 

Again,  as  if  struck  with  new  woes: 
"Will  they  stalk  through  the  forest,  unblushing  and 
bold? 

Who'll  marry  such  creatures  as  those!" 

"Perhaps,"  said  his  listening  target  again, 

"Those  fair  Gorillitas  might  twine 
For  their  shivering  bodies  some  cover  of  grace 

With  the  leaves  of  the  clinging  vine. 

"And  then  there's  the  plaintain,  and  fig  leaf  so  broad, 
And  the  frond-bordered  fern  and  the  brake." 

Thus  early  did  instincts  Parisian  appear 
The  masculine  scorn  to  awake. 

"A  female  in  plantains  and  fig  leaves  beswaddled, 
And  tied  round  with  twisted  sticks!" 

Sneered  her  lord.      "Have  you,  my  dear  Madam,  I 

pray, 
Been  trying  such  ladylike  tricks?" 


[122 


"My  tribe  in  banana  leaves  bandaged  and  hid, 
Whose  arms  scarce  hold  their  own  weight, 

And  sleeping  in  shelter  of  rushes  and  ferns, — 
Call  you  this  a  higher  estate? 

"Don't  tell  me  of  better  conditions  again; 

I'm  sick  of  this  twaddle,  quite! 
I  say  if  this  fad  of  evolving  goes  on 

Our  race  will  be  out  of  sight." 

He  had  asked  for  his  lady's  opinion,  'tis  true; 

Then  scornfully  threw  it  away; 
But  the  world  has  evolved  to  such  blessed  estate, 

That  the  male  never  does  so  to-day. 

But  this  king,  undeveloped  and  crude  of  mind, 

Into  fury  had  lashed  his  wrath; 
And  he  crashed  through  the  forest  despoiling  at  will 

Every  helpless  thing  in  his  path. 

His  queen,  whose  inherited  kingdom  he  ruled, 
To  the  shade  of  their  household  tree, 

On  her  back  bore  the  nuts  and  banana-branch; 
Nor  dreamed  that  her  kind  could  be  free. 


[123] 

Concerning  Hoes 

You've  heard  of  that  over-worked  man  with  the  hoe, 
Whom  lords  and  rulers  conspire  to  rob; 
Who's  supposed  to  concentrate  all  human  woe 
And  stand  to  the  world,  for  the  lot,  in  one  job. 

This  idealized  victim  of  possible  wrong! 
Perhaps  his  griefs  are  humanity's  fad; 
A  good  hoe  is  a  theme  for  ethical  song; 
At  an  every  day  hoe,  the  heart  should  be  glad. 

From  the  Labor  Prince  with  his  sceptre-spade, 
To  the  man  who  can  claim  the  LL.  D., 
This  life  has  a  hoe  for  every  grade, 
And  it  means  —  hard  work  as  the  right  to  be. 

1 '  And  now  for  my  hoe, ' '  the  actor-man  said, 
As  he  took  up  his  cue  with  grimace  or  frown. 
Quoth  the  author,  "This  thought  that's  buzzing  my 

head 
Will  prove  a  good  hoe  to  get  bread  and  renown." 

"That  hoe-man  of  song  found  an  easy  fame," 
Sighed  the  lawyer  pressed  with  his  clients'  sins, 
"Compared  to  the  man  who  would  gain  a  name 
Where   'tis  money  rather  than  merit  that  wins." 

As  the  miner  shouldered  his  pick  and  pan 
He  thought  of  the  hoe-song  he  heard  one  day, 
And  he  grumbled,  "He  hain't  got  it  all,  that  man, 
He  never  mushed  out  on  a  tundra  lay. ' ' 


[124] 


The  emperor  said  to  his  friend,  the  king, 
"Old  chap,  these  sceptres  used  to  be  ours; 
But  these  hoe-men  are  getting  inside  the  ring, 
We'd  better  accept  them  as  Allied  Powers." 

Thus  the  thought  had  dawned,  and  the  earth  rejoiced, 
That  the  ox  and  his  brother  were  not  alone, 
And  only  that  man  had  a  woe  to  be  voiced 
Who  did  not  possess  a  hoe  of  his  own. 

So  hoe-men  we  are,  both  great  and  small, 
If  we  rule  or  serve  or  buy  or  sell, 
And  the  world  demands  but  this  thing  of  us  all, 
Whenever  we  hoe  be  sure  to  hoe  well. 

L' Envoi 

Then,  comrades,  your  hoes !  to  your  hoes  and  to  work ! 
For  the  fields  are  broad  and  brief  are  the  years ; 
And  Nature  has  made  no  place  for  a  shirk, 
Nor  ripens  life's  harvest  with  penitent  tears. 


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